


The Blinded Date

by williamspockspeare



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Jim, Romantic Shenanigans - Freeform, They're in love!, Uhura and Spock are best friends, lil bit of angst, more specific/further tags in notes, romantic plans backfiring, they're just two big goofs ok????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-10-24 11:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20705192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamspockspeare/pseuds/williamspockspeare
Summary: "He knew exactly how it would play out. The lights on the observation deck would be dim, Spock’s dark eyes would glimmer with logical desire... And Jim would have front row tickets to the death of his own unrequited feelings."Spock asks Kirk out on date...as his wingman. Will Spock be able to convince Jim that they're perfect for each other - or will Jim be stuck playing third wheel to a date that doesn't exist?





	1. Inviting

**Author's Note:**

> Ya girl's back at it again while the uni semester isn't so soul-crushing! Nothing like a good old fashioned fluff piece to tide you through the Fall. I've been working on this off and on since July (I think), and I finally got it ready to share! Hope you all like it!

“Captain, I should like to speak with you, if it would not be an inconvenience.”

Sometimes, Jim wondered how often his first officer had used that exact phrase. It had to be somewhere in the hundreds, three years into their mission.

Jim glanced up from his PADD. His first officer stood before him, hands folded behind his back, the picture of Starfleet etiquette.

“Of course, Mr. Spock.” He finished typing a final note into his official ‘to-do’ list, now twice as long after the quarterly briefing that had just wrapped. “I was thinking of hitting the officers’ lounge once beta shift concludes in a few minutes, if you’d care to follow.”

“I shall only take fifteen minutes of your time. It would be highly impractical to travel such a distance for such a short exchange.”

“True, if it’s just for the exchange.” Jim flashed him a grin. “But I wouldn’t be averse if you joined me in a Saurian brandy afterward.”

“I do not consume alcohol.”

“The replicators do have the capacity to make tea, you know.”

Spock lifted his brow, conceding the point.

“The offer is appreciated, captain. I would prefer, however, to address the matter in a more formal locale.”

“Alright. Although I’m not sure I’ll have the answers to your problem.”

Jim tucked is PADD under his arm, gestured for Spock to follow him. The Vulcan did, keeping step as they strolled down the halls of Deck 14. 

“The whole business of the Starbase 11 operation is muddy. Even Bob Wesley couldn’t figure out the charts, and he was the consulting expert! I don’t know what Admiral Sevrin thinks he’s doing with this interface change.”

“Captain, I did not approach you with the intent to speak about the mission.”

"Oh." Jim glanced to him. “Ship’s business then?”

“No.” Spock raised his chin, eyes flicking to the passage of crew members down the hall. “It has nothing to do with the ship.”

That eliminated the potential subjects almost entirely. The one exception felt hardly possible, and yet Jim tried it.

“A matter relating to ship’s personnel?” He stepped closer as he lowered his voice. “My first officer, in fact?”

Spock pressed his lips together briefly, but nodded. “Affirmative.”

And that was quite extraordinary.

It was no secret that Spock was a private man. Even despite their friendship, he often withheld his thoughts, and certainly his feelings. Jim couldn't blame him – he had grown up on a planet where emotions were bad taste, after all.

But slowly, as they had come to understand each other, Spock became less defensive, had allowed Jim small glimpses of the man behind the cold front of logic and Vulcan stoicism. And he came to learn that Spock had good reason to hide his gentle nature. From what little he knew of Spock’s past, even talking about emotion had presented a threat of mockery. It was no wonder that he preferred to keep his feelings locked away. Jim felt great compassion for his dear friend, and made it his endeavour to preserve his privacy wherever possible.

So, the fact that Spock was approaching him – volunteering his inner thoughts without provocation was a vote of the highest confidence.

“Oh. Mr. Spock, by all means.” He placed an eager hand on his arm, was pleased when Spock did not shrink from it. “There’s the engineering library down the hall, if you want?”

The room he suggested was hardly ever in use. Spock nodded, seeming to possess the same knowledge.

But hastening to the library, the doors swishing open, they found the room occupied by the only human alive who could stand the bore of pure mechanical knowledge.

“Mr. Scott?”

The chief engineer looked up, his name waking him from the dreamy communion that existed between a man and his technical journals.

“Hello, gentlemen! Come for some manuals? I was reading about the new warp core upgrades.” His beaming smile could have powered a small colony. “Did you know they’ve gotten efficiency rates up to two point nine?”

“Two point nine, yes, remarkable,” Jim agreed dispassionately, placing a friendly if firm hand on his arm. “Scotty, if you wouldn’t mind stepping out for a moment, Mr. Spock and I—”

“Oh! Yes, right, Nyota mentioned that you two were…”

Scotty didn’t finish the sentence, a slight pink coming to his cheeks. Something suggested that the aborted finish was not exactly in step with regulation.

He quickly changed tack, before Jim could question him.

“Oh, well never mind me, captain. I’ll let you two get on with it.”

He sent a peculiar encouraging nod over Jim’s shoulder. When Jim looked back, however, Spock stood unmoved, perhaps with an even more severe deadpan than usual (if that were possible). 

Clearly Scotty was keeping something from him. But that didn't make sense. What could Scotty know about Spock that he didn’t?

Mr. Scott whistled out the doors, leaving them alone. The engineering library was quite cramped, with space only for a small table amongst the hulking terminals that held the total knowledge of the ship’s function.

When Spock stepped further into the room, Jim hastened to follow. He was curious now more than ever to solve this latest mystery.

“Sit,” he offered, gesturing to the closest chair, as he took the other.

Spock did not sway an inch. “Thank you, captain, I would prefer to stand.”

That gave him pause. He set his PADD down on the table. 

“It’s something serious, then?”

Spock blinked, tilted his head to the right. “What has indicated that?”

“You didn’t sit. You always sit if the matter is trivial. If it’s serious, you prefer to stand.” Jim smiled. “Although you also prefer to stand when talking business.”

“Fascinating. I was not aware you kept such close record of my mannerisms, captain.”

“Well…” he said, lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug, but spoke no further. _I find everything about you fascinating, _supplied a saccharine and foolhardy voice within. Jim ignored it pointedly.

“In any case,” Spock proceeded, “The matter is not serious in an immediate sense. There are no broad-ranging stakes attached, nor is there any risk to the ship or crew involved in what I wish to discuss.”

“But it is a matter of some importance to you, obviously.”

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “Obviously.”

Jim folded his arms over his chest. It was a relief to know it was nothing life threatening. He wouldn’t soon forget the madcap incident of Spock’s Vulcan ‘biology’.

Spock was silent, then turned suddenly to the chair Jim had offered. “Perhaps I shall sit, sir.” And sit he did, in his precise alien manner.

Jim frowned. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I am. It is…”

Spock paused. A hand came to his lip, his elbow settled on the table. For a moment, he sat completely still, his mind seeming to abandon his body in stasis, as his dark eyes focused into space, into his own thoughts.

In these instances, Jim knew it was most productive to let him be. What little glimpses he had been afforded of Spock’s mind – through melds, and the occasional, accidental contact of psychical energies – had mesmerized him. The sheer capacity, his impeccable organization of thought, the careful, almost tender attention of his analytic powers was almost incomprehensible to Jim’s tangled ball of yarn of a mind.

Beautiful, he thought, so strangely beautiful. But then, Jim was somewhat biased.

So he let Spock sit in silent contemplation for as long he needed. And, as always, his Vulcan friend found the answer. 

“What I must discuss with you is somewhat uncomfortable. I generally find involving others in my inner realities to be disruptive.”

At last, his hand dropped to his lap; he turned to look Jim in the eye. 

“I would ask that you excuse me. I hope you are aware I would not impose this information upon you if it were not unavoidable.”

“I have every confidence in your discretion.” Jim batted aside the urge to place a comforting hand on Spock’s shoulder. Instead, he offered a nod that he hoped registered as supportive. “And you’ve been very patient with my realities, no matter how disruptive. I’m happy to return the kindness.”

Spock observed him. Jim did not push, did not add anything further. Friendship was not always proved in words, or in actions. Sometimes just being there was enough.

Finally, Spock produced a small sigh.

“I would ask your assistance in a matter of emotion.”

A very simple sentence. But for a Vulcan – for Spock – it was a staggering request.

He leaned forward, kept his gaze steady, expression neutral as he nodded.

“Name it.”

“I…” Looking down to his lap, Spock contracted his hands together. “I am in love, captain.”

The confession caught him entirely off guard. So much so that Jim simply stared for several moments.

Love?

Jim furrowed his brow. “You mean something’s caused you to love? Some kind of outside impetus, forcing you to feel—”

“Nothing has forced this upon me.” He pursed his lips, the technicalities clearly registering. “Outside the associated chemical processes that produce such feelings, of course.”

“So…” This was staggering. “You mean, you’re in love? _Actually _in love?”

One brow lifted. “Is that such an impossibility?”

“Oh, no, it’s just—!”

“I understand, captain.” Spock nodded, reassuringly. “I take great care to sublimate my emotions. The knowledge that I feel to such extremes would of course come as a surprise.”

“Of course,” he repeated, softly. Surprise didn’t begin to cover it.

In hallucinations, in surges of biological pressure, Jim had seen his first officer pushed to such feelings. He had known it to be possible - theoretically. When he had met Spock’s parents, slowly recognized the logical fondness Sarek held for _she who was his wife_, Jim was encouraged that love between a human and a Vulcan could exist.

But never had he imagined… because if Spock could love – of his own volition no less…!

Yet Spock’s expression halted this wild, and undeserved train of thought. This was not a teenage, light-hearted infatuation, or a passionate, soaring declaration of devotion. His words had been quiet, plain, merely the facts. There was no romance to them at all.

Jim wondered why he hadn’t realized sooner. “You don’t wish to be in love, do you?”

“It is highly inconvenient, and troublesome,” Spock agreed, exhaling in emphasis. “But that is not entirely correct.”

He shook his head. “Explain.”

Spock’s gaze dropped to his lap – the dark sweep of his lashes cutting a harsh juxtaposition to the dusting of lilac across his lids. 

“I do not resent this…feeling, nor the individual for whom I feel. Quite the contrary. My association with them has allowed me to experience appreciation, respect, and mutual affection, as I never have before. Their acquaintance has brought me an extraordinary benefit.”

There was a smile, or as close to one that Jim had ever seen, playing at his lips.

Jim hummed. “No, I suppose you couldn’t resent that.”

“No.” The word was infinitely gentle. “I have found all attempts to refuse these feelings to be fruitless. And I am somewhat grateful. They are a superlative individual; they deserve and inspire affection quite naturally.”

A part of Jim ached. It was obvious how enamoured Spock was with them. _A superlative individual – someone who deserved his love_! How could Jim ever compare with that kind of perfection? 

But he could not wallow in envy. Spock was gentle, and intelligent, and so very worthy of love. That he had found someone who allowed him to see it was all Jim could ask. 

So he smiled in return, no matter how much it secretly hurt.

“They sound wonderful.” He wrapped his hands around his knee, hugging it instead of the man he wished to embrace. “I’m happy for you. It’s not everyday you find someone who reaches the superlative level, after all.”

Spock said nothing. In his downcast gaze, Jim spied a glimmer of feeling; something deep and, if he dared read emotion onto his first officer, quite sad.

“But you called it inconvenient. Your feelings, I mean.” The pieces started to take shape. He produced a small sound of sympathy. “Oh, Spock. They aren’t in love with you?”

“I do not believe it likely.” As with all difficult, emotional subjects, Spock shifted to formalities. “I have not broached the subject with them. The circumstances of both our lives have conspired to prevent the expression of my infinite regard.”

“Because they’re on the crew.” Jim understood more and more. “Regulation 1138 – officers can’t pursue those outside their rank. It’s someone that regulation says you can’t have, is that right?”

“That…is one barrier, yes.”

“Barrier! Yes, that’s a good way of putting it.” Jim huffed, standing and pacing away. “That’s all that regulation ever was – a blockade against any chance of a life beyond commendation ribbons and shore leave.”

Perhaps that was one disadvantage of being the youngest captain in the ‘Fleet; Jim knew all too well what he was missing. _Where might he be if not here? _he sometimes wondered, when the loneliness of a captain’s life clung to the empty space at his side. Would he truly miss holding command of a ship, as he often told himself, if he had someone to hold instead?

It was a point made all the bitterer when he knew very well who he wanted, and who he could not have.

He laughed, bitterly. “If I were you, I’d disregard 1138. There’s no crime in love – even if Starfleet says otherwise.”

“I know you are not fond of that regulation.”

Jim looked back. An elegant lift of dark brows was what met him. He grinned, bemused.

“How?”

“You value companionship, and you are a highly amorous individual.” Spock folded his arms neatly, a sign Jim was about to be put squarely in his place. “You also once expressed dissatisfaction that you could not pursue a ‘beautiful yeoman’, I believe you put it, because of your duty to the Enterprise.”

Oh. Jim straightened, feeling a slight warmth come to his cheeks. His infatuation with Janice. A desire built upon shadows of past lovers and what ifs and starved curiosity. A flame long since guttered.

That felt like ages ago. But judging from Spock’s withering look, it had not quite disappeared from the ship’s record.

He chuckled. “I’ve found deeper dissatisfactions since, believe me.”

Spock perhaps did not believe him, but made no dispute.

“I am of your opinion, captain, regarding compliance with Regulation 1138. It does not reflect life in service, nor does it fully appreciate the nature of the relationships that are likely to form between officers. I therefore have elected to pursue my intended partner with no regard for it.”

“Good.” Jim nodded, still not understanding where this was going, but willing to hear him out. “And I’m part of the pursuit?”

Spock did not respond.

Jim leaned back against the wall of terminals. “I don’t understand the logic behind telling me all this otherwise. I’m clearly no better at solving relationship woes than you.”

“Then perhaps I have been misdirected. It was my intention to ask a favour of you.”

“Which would be?”

Spock’s gaze moved to Jim.

“I intend to arrange a ‘date’ this Saturday on the observation deck at 1800 hours. The evening shall include dinner, and recreations which I have been assured are of a romantic nature.”

“Well, that sounds very nice, Mr. Spock.” Jim offered an encouraging smile. Maybe that was what he was after: a little moral support. “I’m sure it’ll be a lovely evening.”

A hesitation seemed to overtake Spock. His brows constricted, he pressed his lips together. Jim almost made to ask what the matter was, before Spock blurted:

“Captain, it would be most pleasant if you would accompany me on my date.”

“What?” And then it fully registered. “Me?” Jim felt his heart-rate skyrocket. “You…you mean—?”

“On Vulcan, courting is often done as part of larger social groups,” Spock said, seeming to find the hands in his lap required close observation. “Males often woo their mates with a trusted companion as a source of advocacy and support. I believe human males have such a practice, known as men with wings, is that not correct?”

Oh.

“Uh, _wingman_, but yes, essentially.”

As quickly as Jim’s adrenaline had spiked, it fell, leaving him feeling spent without much reward. Of course. Why would Spock want to date him? He had his superlative individual. Who was Jim kidding?

Jim brought a hand to the back of his neck, uncertainly.

“So…you want me to be your wingman?”

“Yes.” Spock blinked three times in the pause that elapsed. “If that would be amenable, sir.”

Jim considered his options. Saying yes was pretty much the last thing he wanted. He could only imagine the torture of watching Spock wine and dine some paragon.

But Spock’s expression was so eager. To say no – and Jim had no logical reason to – would clearly crush him.

Aw, hell.

“Sure.”

His brows raised, evidently surprised. “You agree?”

“Yes. Of course I’ll help you.” Following impulse for once, he strode across the room to place gentle hands on Spock’s arms. “You’re my best friend, Spock. I want you to be happy.”

“Happiness is—”

“Yes, I know, sorry. Whatever the Vulcan equivalent is.”

Spock inclined his head. “I appreciate it, captain.”

“Was that all you wanted to ask me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, that’s fine.” Jim smiled, giving Spock’s bicep a brief squeeze. “Just fine.”

Maybe it was, for Spock. Jim, on the other hand, already had a feeling of dread called Saturday tugging at him.

Jim moved to gather his PADD from the table. Spock circled the room, coming to halt at the doors, waiting for his captain in his dutiful fashion.

“I shall send you the relevant information as per location, time, and suggested attire shortly.”

“Suggested attire?” Jim laughed, tucking the stylus of his PADD behind his ear. “That’s pretty specific for a first date.”

But of course it was. Knowing Spock, he’d probably had the whole night planned for weeks, down to the nanosecond.

As they left the engineering library, Spock looked back with a frown. “Should I refrain from including such information on the formal invitation?”

“Invitation?” Jim spluttered.

Spock’s date was getting a formal invitation? God, that was so romantic. If only—no, never mind that.

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “You do what you want. It’s your date, Spock.”

“Hm.”

Clearly, his response had thrown a wrench into the Vulcan’s designs. He could almost see the calculations flickering past his eyes. 

For a moment, Jim admired his first officer, his brilliance and his beauty. Spock was so out of his league it was almost funny. Whoever had caught his eye didn’t know how lucky they were.

“You know…” He considered whether it was prudent to finish that sentence, but when Spock glanced to him quizzically, he didn’t have much choice. He tried to appear casual. “Silly actually. When you asked me to accompany you, I thought you meant accompany as in…well, like as if you were asking me to—”

“Oh!”

The hollows of Spock’s cheeks flared mint green.

“Captain, that was…no, I—certainly I would never suggest—”

“Oh, sure – of course not, Spock,” Jim stammered, feeling his own cheeks redden, in a strange solidarity. “Not that I’d want…or you know, that I’d sanction that, because of course that’s different – a captain and first officer aren’t exactly…”

Spock halted their languid stroll, the sharpness of his stop causing Jim to stumble on a few more paces before he could turn back. 

“I have an appointment in the science labs. Do forgive me, captain.”

“What? Oh!” Jim nodded vigorously. “Right, yes, by all means, go.”

Spock, however, did not immediately rush off to his duty.

“Saturday at 1800 hours.” His tone was endearingly sincere. “You will be there?”

Hoping it didn’t look too sheepish, Jim gave him his best smile. “You can count on me, Spock.”

That seemed to satisfy the Vulcan. With an elegant pivot, he was quickly off down the hallway. 

It took all of Jim’s willpower not to bang his PADD over his head.

_You big idiot! As if he would ever…!_

There was no use wallowing in pity. It wasn’t a good look on anyone, never mind the only Starfleet captain with fluff for brains.

Oh, God, what had he signed himself up for? This was going to be the worst date in Enterprise history – if only for the wingman. 


	2. Brewing Plans

“Nyota, I believe this plan to be somewhat flawed.”

From across her quarters, Nyota Uhura sighed in the dramatic human fashion that indicated one was annoyed.

“It is not flawed.”

He heard her footsteps pad over to where he lay, and soon her face jutted into view over him.

“I got Kevin Riley to do the same thing for Lieutenant Wiley, and now they’re the happiest couple in the comm. lab sector. This plan, if anything, is rock solid.”

There were several points of dissent in that. However, it perhaps unwise to voice them all.

Spock settled for the most obvious difference.

“I am not Kevin Riley. Nor is my beloved in any way comparable to Lieutenant Wiley.”

Her expression pursed; evidently displeased with having her advice questioned.

“Look. If you have such a problem with it, why don’t you just ask Kirk outright to date you? You said he almost thought you did anyhow.”

That struck to the heart of the problem quite succinctly. Irritatingly so.

“If I were prepared to approach the captain with a romantic offer, then I would not have turned to you for assistance. As well you know.”

“I do. So don’t go doubting me now, mister!” And wagging a finger at him, she paced out of view.

Spock sighed, running a hand absently down the front of his uniform shirt.

“I apologize, Nyota. You have been of great assistance. I am merely concerned that I will be unable to carry out your strategy to a sufficient end.”

“Spock, that’s not like—ooh!” A sharp whistle of steam from the adjacent room had clearly caught her ear, as it had Spock’s. “That’ll be the tea, one moment!”

As she hastened to attend to it, Spock shifted out of his recline, attempting to right himself in the large sack that humans referred to as a ‘beanbag chair’. An inelegant accommodation – but he could not deny its comfortable properties.

To an outside eye, their relations might have seemed odd. Functionally, Nyota Uhura and Spock were at complete opposite ends of the social spectrum. Yet, over time, they had discovered a remarkable affinity in the other. Indeed, one could accurately term them ‘friends’.

For Spock, that was quite a statement indeed.

He could not recall how their relationship had developed beyond mere acquaintance.

Perhaps it had been noticing her ability to retain ship’s gossip (being head of communications had its social advantages), and yet her absolute discretion with the abundance of personal information she held. Or else, as she once suggested, the fact their romantic desires diverged was ideal for platonic companionship. A kind of “solidarity”, she had called it – Spock was inclined to approve of such a designation.

And privately, it might have been her similarity to another woman from his past. A woman whose scientific and brilliant mind he saw reflected in Nyota’s separate, but parallel vivacity. She was like a sister to him, after all.

They were kindred souls, regardless of how one theorized it.

What struck Spock as most remarkable was their ability to be candid with each other.

The Thursday night music lesson they had first scheduled had evolved over the years into long and poignant discussions of her family’s disapproval of her career, and her confusion as to her sexual orientation, her fundamental desires. In turn, Spock expressed his struggle with his parents’ expectations, his difficulty in learning language and Standard colloquialisms, and ultimately, his harboured feelings for James T. Kirk.

Feelings, as it happened, that he wrestled with to this very moment.

“Here we are.”

Nyota entered, bringing with her a small tray and the soothing aroma of spiced purple-leaf oolong. Though replication was a logical means of resource management, it was no substitute to the pleasure of a freshly brewed cup of tea.

“The phrase ‘rock solid’,” he mused, accepting the cup she offered. “I am not familiar with it. It refers to certainty?”

“Yes, it can.” She poured a generous amount of the purple brew for them both. “It also refers to something substantial, or set. You could apply it to a relationship, a theoretical concept, or an item that has the solid properties of a rock.”

“Fascinating.” The range of application in human metaphors was truly remarkable. “I believe I understand.”

“Good. Ooh! I forgot to tell you – I made some progress on the _Katra-Kogavik_.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah! Oh, would you mind—?”

“Certainly.”

Accepting the tray, he held it aloft as she came to sit on her bed. Taking it once perched, Nyota set the tray between them on the nightstand, so both could reach the teapot, and the accompanying plate of biscuits. 

“I am impressed, Nyota, that you have decided to attempt it at all.” He settled into the recess in the beanbag with his tea, having to lean against the wall to keep upright. “It is a famously difficult piece. I myself would require extensive practice to play it correctly.”

“Oh, I’m not perfect yet. I haven’t even looked at the seven-five fret section.” Still, she did not appear daunted. Holding her cup in two hands, savouring its warmth, she exhaled with some satisfaction. “But I’ve got the first verse. And I think I have the lyrics mostly memorized. My goal is to have it by end of next quarter.”

Spock raised a brow. “An ambitious undertaking.”

Nyota grinned. “It will keep me busy.”

“Indeed.”

“But never mind me.” She nudged him with her toe. “Tonight is about your woes, not mine.”

Spock sighed. “I do not possess ‘woes’, Nyota. I am concerned, and merely because romance is an area in which I have no expertise”

She cocked her head to one side, the coil of hair piled atop her head bouncing as she did.

“Still, I can see it troubles you. It’s not like you to be unsure, even if you don’t have expertise. What makes the prospect so particularly difficult?”

Looking into the purple depths of his cup, Spock discovered he had no desire to drink it. Huffing, he set it down on the tray.

“There are too many variables.” He lay back, lacing his hands over his chest. “I am certain that he will discover the ruse, and find it an unwarranted deception. It has therefore occurred to me that the most prudent action is to abandon the effort and elucidate my intentions.”

“But you don’t want to do that.”

“No.”

“Because you think he won’t be in love with you?” Nyota narrowed her gaze, seeking his inner thoughts with her shrewd eyes. “_Because _it’s you?”

Spock glanced to the ceiling, calculated the number of insulating tiles as an absent distraction. The trouble with friendship was that it allowed others to know you far too well.

“Yes.”

Before she could utter a sound of pity – which he knew would come – he hoisted himself onto his haunches to escape the pull of the beanbag, and to busy himself with the tea tray’s selection of biscuits.

“He is not attracted to me, nor has he any reason to develop an attraction. I have demonstrated time and again that I have no aptitude for navigating the romantic.”

“That’s not true.”

He chose a green biscuit; shot Nyota a dissenting look. “Only a significant display to the contrary – a lasting display – will convince him of my potentiality as male friend material.”

“_Boy_friend material,” Nyota corrected gently, bobbing her tea bag between two fingers. “That’s mint chocolate, by the way.”

“Oh.” Grimacing, he returned it to its fellows. “Why _boyfriend, _incidentally? Does that not cause problems differentiating between platonic and romantic friendships?”

“There’s really no such thing as a romantic friendship.”

“Then why name it boyfr—?”

“Never mind the etymology.” Nyota picked up the biscuit he had discarded, bit into it. “So you think that my date plan is the best option.”

“Yes. It provides me a level of plausible deniability, in the circumstance that Jim is unreceptive to my advances.” Still, that invited an obvious further observation. Spock shut his eyes for a moment. “Yet it seems unlikely that my efforts will lead to success in any circumstance. The favourable probability is only fifty two point four.”

And finding he needed something to stomach that fact (and the loss of his desired refreshment), he retrieved his cup from the tray, taking a mouthful of spiced tea.

“Oh, I’m certain the probabilities will work in your favour.”

Nyota uncrossed her legs, leaned forward to better look him in the eyes. A measure of wisdom had entered her smile.

“Jim Kirk is the receptive type. And again, I’d ask you not to doubt me, Mr. Spock. I’m top of the Enterprise betting pool on new couples for a reason. I wouldn’t waste my time if I didn’t believe in your chances.”

Spock nodded. Nyota, in spite of her humanity, always followed a reasonable course.

“Besides, I’m positive the captain won’t consider it deception. You did ask him to go on a date, after all. He even came up with the idea that it might be for him. Sounds to me like it’s already crossed his mind, huh?”

She waggled her brows in an affectionate, teasing way.

Spock frowned. It was illogical to accept incidental evidence in a matter of importance.

“Nevertheless, I do not have a logical explanation as to why I would purposefully disguise my intentions.”

“Yes you do. You tell him that you love him, and that you wanted your date to be a surprise, a grand romantic gesture to communicate the scale of your feelings. That’s your logic. Because that’s the truth.”

He said nothing. Truth was rational. But still, Spock found the prospect of such a vulnerable task quite unsettling, to say the least.

A small, understanding smile graced her expression.

“We could always practice it again. Unless you’ve perfected all the possibilities.”

In the past three days, they had rehearsed the date one hundred and sixty two times, in order to avoid the typical pitfalls of courtship.

Still, Spock nodded. “As I wish to achieve perfection, and have only a single opportunity in which to do so, it is only prudent.”

She hummed softly, setting down her tea. In response, Spock straightened into a more formal posture, recalling the trajectory of the date in his head. They began first with introductory greetings. _I compliment his timely arrival. _

But Nyota, gazing at him for a moment, seemed to reconsider.

“You know,” she said, smoothing her pyjama dress over her lap. “When I went on my first few dates, I got incredibly nervous. I still get nervous, actually. I have this terrible habit of picking at my nails when I'm anxious. One time, I spent all day getting acrylics done, and by the time I showed up to the date that evening I’d peeled half of them off – and not just because I thought I’d get lucky!”

Nyota laughed at the memory, in her soft, musical manner. Spock sighed, conceding to the desire, and her unspoken incentive, to confess his frailties.

“I am concerned that Jim will not understand. That he may find my affection for him indecorous. Or perhaps worse.” Though he trusted her, he retreated his gaze to the floor. “I fear he might…laugh at me.”

“Oh, Spock, he won’t laugh.”

Her hand came to his cheek, pulling his chin up to look at her. He could sense, through her touch and her gentle gaze, that this was not an empty comfort, but a belief.

“He cares about you. He’ll see how important this is. James Kirk is a considerate man.”

As usual, she was correct. If there was any other individual he trusted more than her, it was Jim, precisely because of his considerate aptitude.

“Wasn’t that one of the reasons why you fell for him in the first place? Because he’s such a sweetie pie?”

Spock shot her a narrow look.

“I would not use such terminology.”

Grinning, she patted his cheek once, and then removed her hand.

“Well, whatever the Vulcan equivalent is. Your _k’hat’n’dlawa_?”

He could tell, from both the flush of heat through his face, and her sudden giggling, that his cheeks had turned bright green.

“You have been studying outside the resources I gave you, apparently,” he murmured, before taking a hasty sip of tea.

“I’ve got to be prepared in case your ex ever shows up again.” She produced a small sigh, her focus drifting into the air in recollection. “She was gorgeous.”

“Please do not repeat such a term outside of our confidence.”

She smirked. “You mean I shouldn’t have put it on Kirk’s invitation?”

“_Nyota_!”

“I’m kidding!” she giggled, lifting a hand to cover her abundant mirth. “You should see your face.”

“You are aware,” he said, deciding to utilize a particularly effective tactic to convey his seriousness, “that T’Pring will be attending the operations conference on Rigel VI next quarter. And that I am in charge of assigning officers to represent the Enterprise.”

Her laughter halted instantly – her expression travelling from amusement to hope to realization to dismay at the speed only a human’s could.

“You wouldn’t.” Her hands came to her hips. “I’m more than qualified – you wouldn’t have a reason to bar me!”

“Save your necessity to the ship, of course.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she groaned, flopping into the copious pillows on her bed.

“You know I was just teasing. You’re so mean.” She made a face, which he assumed was intended to communicate displeasure. “_Sir._”

“And you are supposed to be helping me practice, _lieutenant._”

She rolled her eyes, her customary smile slowly infecting her expression once more.

“Alright, once more. Better safe than sorry, right?”

“Indeed.” Spock sat up, inclining his head as Nyota readied herself. “Are you prepared?”

“Completely.” She dropped her voice several octaves, put on a smirk that he assumed was meant to be charming. “Why, hello, Mr. Spock. Fancy meeting you here.”

Spock lifted a brow at her (inaccurate) impression of Jim, but did not comment on it. It was useful to prepare for all manner of inconsistencies, no matter how unlikely.

“Good evening, captain." _I compliment his timeliness._ "You have arrived exactly on schedule.”

“Oh, good. I wouldn’t want to disrupt your big plans, Mr. Spock. Though I might be doing that already. Are you sure you want me here?”

“Of course, sir.” _I __flirt._ And here, he allowed a slight smile to encroach upon his lips, one he would permit only for Jim’s sake. “I would desire no one else but you for such an evening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katra-Kogavik: Feminine Soul  
k'hat'n'dlawa: half of each other's heart and soul (the long form of k'diwa)
> 
> Thanks for reading y'all! I love the idea of Uhura and Spock being besties, and I finally got around to working it into a fic.


	3. Country Doctor Advice

“Well, congratulations. You’ve gotten yourself smack in the middle of another totally unnecessary problem.”

They seemed to view the situation from totally opposite vantages. While Jim had his head in his hands, McCoy took the opportunity to sling his feet on the desk – something he had the luxury of doing in his own quarters.

“I don’t know how you do it. Spock can’t so much as step in a puddle before you fling yourself under his boot. Jesus, it’s like you _want _him to walk all over you.” McCoy stopped, frowning. “You don’t get off on that, do you?”

“Of course not!” Jim glared, but couldn’t find the heart to put much malice behind it. He sighed, running a hand over his eyes for the hundredth time. “Believe me, I don’t know how it keeps happening either. And I thought I asked you to help me, anyhow.” 

Bones shrugged. “I can’t help you being foolish. There’s no cure for that.”

“No, I guess not.”

The week had crumbled in his hands like powder, slipping away before Jim could begin to comprehend how badly he had screwed himself. Now there was only a single night before Saturday.

Spock had sent his ‘formal invitation’. It was on industrial grade card stock, the kind designated by Starfleet for important documents only. It requested his attendance to Observation Deck A at 1800 hours, in flowing, exquisite cursive – hand-written. There was a small pressed flower, a forget-me-not, laminated to the bottom left corner.

Jim was so screwed.

He knew exactly how it would play out. The lights on the Observation Deck would be dim, Spock’s dark eyes would glimmer with logical desire as the infuriatingly perfect _Officer Whoever _waltzed through the doors. He would incline his head, make a factual statement of attraction that would cause them to blush. Then one small gesture would lead to another, and before long they would be brushing foreheads, lips…

And Jim would have front row tickets to the death of his own unrequited feelings.

A migraine began to pulse in his head.

“Maybe I should just cancel.” Jim slumped back in his seat, trying the ceiling for answers he hadn’t found buried in his hands. “I mean, he did say the date was against protocol.”

McCoy chuckled. “Since when has that ever mattered to you?”

“Not helping, Bones.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “There has to be a way to avoid this. I could say I can’t do it in good conscience – or that I’m sick.”

“When he’s just seen you on duty an hour earlier?”

“I’ll make a point of coughing a lot.”

An inappropriately cheerful _ding! _sounded, and McCoy clapped his hands together.

“Finally!”

Sliding his feet off the desk, he tapped a button on the side of the machine that made the sound, and out of the hatch slid—

“Two mint juleps – Georgia style.” Bones smiled like it was Christmas morning. Clearly, the doctor had other things on his mind than his captain's love life.

Jim didn’t blame him.

Resisting the urge to sigh, he accepted the glass. “I’m glad you’re getting use out of that thing.”

“You kidding me? This is my second julep today.” Bones grinned toothily, dunking the sprig of mint on top as if he was steeping tealeaves. “Best birthday present of my life!” And he gave a jocular little toast to prove it.

“I suppose I’ll have to go through with it.”

McCoy made a face, as Jim took a brooding drink – probably a ridiculous picture given the pokey Mason jar that was his glass.

“Geez, Jim, will you lighten up? You sound like Spock asked you to donate your spleen. Look on the bright side – it’s a free meal.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Bones.”

“I know, I know – you’ve lost your love, melancholia, whatever. But it’s nothing anybody else hasn’t gone through. Hell, before I got on this ship, that was my life.” A thought seemed to strike McCoy as funny, for he started sniggering into his julep. “I mean – _hee! _– at least now your kids won’t come out with fucking bowl cuts.”

“Come on, Bones.”

“Well, I mean, it’s a planet full-a the worst haircuts of all time! I’d hate to hear what kinda logical hogwash they’ve got for that one.”

Jim kicked him under the table, which only made Bones laugh harder.

Despite himself, Jim cracked a smile. Try as he might, it was impossible to stay miserable with his chief medical officer in such a good mood. 

“I didn’t come here for the stand up routine.”

“Aw, relax, Jimmy-boy.” He shot Jim a sunny smile that only showed itself past a tumbler of bourbon. “You’ve been hangin’ out with Spock too much, lost all yer sense of humour. So, it didn’t work out! Tough! Just take a drink and suck it up.”

“Your bedside manner is top notch.”

But Jim followed his prescription, and knocked back his julep. Only to remember he really hated mint juleps.

As he screwed up his expression against the foul sting of bourbon and mint, Bones stretched out in his chair.

“Well a-course, you could always sabotage it.”

Taking a chaser sip of his nearby coffee – which only made matters worse – Jim shook his head.

“Ugh. Sabotage what?”

“The date, ya bimbo. Spock’s date. Sabotage it. You hijacked the goddamn Kobayashi Maru, didn’t ya? How hard could a first date be?”

Jim blinked. “What? I can’t do that. He said he was in love with whoever it is.”

“Ah, fuck whoever it is.” McCoy waved his hand through the air lazily. “S’isn’t you right? If Spock ain’t fuckin’ you, you gotta fuck over whoever he _is _fucking.”

Jim frowned. “There were one too many fucks in there, Bones.”

“Fuck you.”

Swallowing the last bitter aftertaste of the julep, Jim shook his head.

“I don’t know. It’s not a very nice thing to do.” Still, the thought of embarrassing the pants off _Officer Superlative _did give him a twinge of satisfaction. Jim drummed his fingers on the desk in front of him. “The idea’s got some merit though, I’ll give you that.”

“The way I see it, you gotta play smart to get the smart-ass,” Bones said, tapping his forehead. “Because who’s Spock dating? Some asshole? You don’t want him to date an asshole, do you?”

The julep had begun to buzz in his head – Jim scrunched his nose.

“’Course not.”

“So you gotta get rid of them! You gotta be the superior date material – show ‘em who really deserves Spock.”

“I don’t know…”

“Well, fuck, Jim, I don’t either, I’m just spit-balling here. What do you want to do?”

“I…”

Jim’s head felt fuzzy, sore, and the pit of gloom that had already been open inside fell to cavernous new lows. A rueful sigh drew from his breast, unfettered by sober pride.

“I want him to be happy,” Jim said, folding forward, face in hands.

“Hey, hey, hey.”

Across the table, McCoy’s jubilance dimmed. A hand came to touch Jim’s arm, consoling and heavy.

“Forget about it, huh? He’s not worth the trouble.” When Jim looked up again, McCoy sent a small smile his way. “You’ve got me, Jimbo – I hope you know that I’m always on your side.”

Jim breathed a laugh, struck to the heart.

“You’re a good friend, Bones.”

“N’aw, don’t get sentimental on me.” Bones huffed, turning back to his beloved julep. “I don’t have much of a choice when the alternative is siding with ol’ pointy ears.”

“I would hope its because I bought you that julep machine.”

“That too!” Bones lifted a glass. “To julep, and to us. At the very least, we won’t be drinking alone.”

Jim smiled. It was a comfort, if nothing more.

Even despite his empty glass, he met McCoy’s toast. “To us.”

Watching McCoy take a drink, he almost wished for another julep. Almost.

“So,” Bones said, once he set his glass aside. “You’ve got a lot to consider.”

Jim frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that was a pretty fancy looking invitation. You better dress to impress.”

“It’s not my date,” he reminded him, coldly.

“Not with that attitude it isn’t. Think about it.” Bones tapped his head again. “Remember what they said at the Academy? Every class you take is an interview for starship assignment? Well, it's the same with Vulcans."

Jim frowned. "How?"

"Precedence. Experience! Every invited dinner with Mr. Eyebrow is a practice date.”

There was probably a glaring logical fallacy in that. Yet, to Jim’s human understanding of things, it held a modicum of truth.

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t think about it like that.”

"But you are thinking about it, aren't you?"

"It's Spock's date."

"That he invited you on."

Jim held his gaze. Then he sighed. "I wouldn't know what to wear."

McCoy grinned mischievously. “I can loan you a tie.”

A pause. 

_Shit. _

“Oh, fine.” Jim stood from his seat. "But I'm going to need a second julep!"

If he could be certain of anything, it was that he was in for a world of trouble come tomorrow night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey - my continued thanks for reading! A mini chapter this time - but don't worry, many long (and date-filled) chapters to come! 
> 
> Fun Fanfic fact: I have searched for a thousand ways to put my mint julep machine into a story. I know they have replicators, but I always thought Bones would love a special machine solely for mint juleps. And at last it's here! Dreams do come true (at least McCoy's do)!


	4. Aperatif

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're hungry, do not read this food filled chapter until you get a snack.

Saturday arrived, against all his prayers to the contrary.

Spock’s invitation had specified ‘relaxed semi-formal'. Jim assumed that was the Vulcan way of saying nothing too fancy. After all, as he kept repeating to himself, it wasn’t really his date.

Should he pretend like it was?

The thought had crossed his mind a hundred times since his conversation with Bones. The more he thought of it, the simpler it seemed. He had an absolutely killer ensemble that no shore leave had found opportunity for. A black tux, classic, quite sexy; it accentuated his shoulders, hid his less than perfect waistline.

That would show Spock what he was missing all right. He doubted any ensign could hold a candle to Captain James T. Kirk, ‘superlative’ or not. 

But it was a selfish thought. Spock wouldn’t appreciate him rolling up to his wingman duties in prime seduction mode – he’d probably assume Jim was trying to one up him, or steal his partner’s affections.

Not to mention that he had no undershirt to go with it. 

So, he scrapped the nefarious, rom-com bullshit. His light green V-neck and civilian slacks would serve just fine.

And if he added an extra spritz of cologne behind his ears, it was only for his own pride, no deception attached.

Even so, he considered not going at all.

An ache had opened in his chest, growing wider, more painful as the day progressed. It was one thing to know theoretically that your crush didn’t feel the same – quite another to have it emphatically proved. What sense was there in torturing himself?

But, dutiful and foolish friend that he was, Jim trudged down to Deck 16. He even managed to arrive five minutes early, just as Spock had asked.

The doors to the observation deck swished apart as he strode toward them. He took a steadying breath before walking inside.

_Here goes nothing_.

“Well, Mr. Spock, I’m…”

The words stopped on his lips, as he registered the décor.

The room, usually dull and utilitarian, was bedecked with candles, and strange crystalline sculptures that caught their flickering light. Through the edgeless glass of the observation windows, this dark space mirrored the vast expanse beyond.

In the midst sat a small table. Even from a distance, Jim noticed the orderly row of cutlery, the crisp line of the tablecloth, the mathematical angles of the flower arrangement in centre. Framed by the darkness, the table seemed to float adrift the stars, the untouched mysteries of the universe.

As if, he mused, to reflect the notion that all things, no matter how disparate, were connected. That, at their core, the quotidian and the sublime were one and the same.

Philosophical. Deep. A glimpse at the soul who envisioned this mise en scene, and of the heart it meant to offer.

Caught in the wonder of this atmosphere, Jim was drawn forward, as one in a dream, or a place of great importance.

“Captain.”

The voice startled him from his thoughts. He glanced to where it had called from: the doors of the deck’s antechamber. 

Spock moved toward him, almost appearing to glide through the darkness. He offered a polite, welcoming nod.

“Good evening. You have arrived precisely on schedule.”

Jim stared back, struck with a feeling somewhat akin to a phaser on stun.

Spock was dressed in robes of the darkest purple, its colour making his pale face glow an ethereal green. It fit him to the inch from the slope of his Adam’s apple to the shine of his polished shoes. At his throat, a small tear-shaped keyhole bared the flesh of where his neck met collarbone in elegant temptation.

The man was utterly breath taking.

“Wow,” the word escaped his lips in a rush of air. “You look gorgeous, Spock.”

It occurred to him immediately that was not exactly appropriate for a wingman to say.

However, Spock did not admonish the misstep. His eyes widened slightly, his lips parted. Then he inclined his head in modest acceptance.

“Thank you.” His gaze drifted down Jim’s body, perhaps in perfunctory reciprocation. “Your apparel is also quite flattering.”

The comment flung Jim back into reality.

“I hope it’s not too casual. When you said relaxed, I didn’t realize—”

“No, not at all. Your dress is appropriate.” Spock seemed to hesitate a moment, before adding, “The colour accentuates your eyes in a most pleasing manner.”

Jim smiled; Spock always knew how to make him feel better.

“Green is one of my better colours.”

When Spock did not say anything further, Jim clapped his hands together.

“So! Tonight’s the night, huh?”

Spock accepted the conversational lead, gesturing that they move to the table. “Indeed.”

Jim followed, placing a hand on his arm.

“If your Vulcan pride will allow another compliment from your captain, I think you’ve done a terrific job refurnishing the place.”

“I am pleased you approve.” Still, ever a perfectionist, Spock rotated a nearby sculpture by a degree as they passed. “It is my replication of a uniquely Vulcanian atmosphere. The desert accumulates dew overnight, causing an illusory effect of the stars seeming to sit upon the sands. Many couples find it an ideal backdrop for romance.”

“I can see why.” Jim smiled, glancing around at the beautiful decorations once more. “Are the crystal sculptures a traditional custom too?”

“No. In fact, they are of Lieutenant Sulu’s invention. As you know, his current venture is in Andorian glass firing – these, I believe, were early attempts.”

Jim hummed, grinning at the thought. He remembered the mess Sulu had made of the ship’s pottery studio by throwing highly corrosive Andorian metals, and how they had burned through the wheels (and part of the floors). That had been a messy day of paperwork.

It was nice to see something elegant made of such chaos – which was very Vulcan, now that Jim thought of it.

“They certainly do achieve the effect you wanted, Mr. Spock. It’s intimate, yet so…enchanting, in a way.” He sighed softly, looking around once more. “Perfection.”

Gingerly, Spock’s hand came to his back. “I am gratified at your response, Jim.”

At the touch, Jim turned to him with some surprise. Quickly, however, seeing Spock’s cautious gaze, he understood. First dates were always a nervous business.

“Oh, come here.”

He brought Spock into a light hug. It was no shock that the Vulcan merely stiffened at their contact, and made no move to embrace him back. 

“It’s going to be great.” He pulled away, gripping his arms securely. “I’m very proud of you, you know?”

“Thank you.” A measure of uncertainty remained in his gaze, but Spock nodded several times. “I appreciate your presence.”

Jim produced a small ‘aw’, patting his arm once, before letting him go.

“I’ll do everything I can to help – which with any luck, won’t need to be much at all.”

Arriving at the table, he pulled out a chair. Spock slowed to a halt, choosing to remain standing as Jim seated himself.

“So,” Jim said, looking up to him with a grin. “Who’s the lucky duck?”

Spock’s stoicism did not waver an inch. “There are no ducks.”

“The person, Spock.” He spread his hands indicatively. “Your date?”

“Ah. Such information shall be evident shortly, I hope.”

The cryptic answer made Jim laugh.

“You’re making me wait? Huh.”

Spock’s brow furrowed. “Is that somehow amusing?”

“Oh, no. Just that hiding who it is comes with certain implications. This mystery person must be much lovelier than I would expect.” He smirked. “Or much uglier.”

“Captain!”

As expected, the tease ruffled Spock’s feathers. He straightened, brows raising in sharp affront.

Jim laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Relax, Spock – I’m only joking. I have every confidence in your good taste.”

“As well you should,” Spock said, but his frown lingered. “Nevertheless, I believe I will allow you to ‘wait and see’, to quote the expression.”

“As you wish, Mr. Spock. As you wish.”

Jim made to take a sip of water from the glass before him, but stopped himself with a short utterance of dismay.

“Oh, what am I doing? I shouldn’t be sitting here at all. Your date will be coming any moment.”

He hastened to leave the seat, but Spock rounded the table.

“No, captain, please. Sit down.”

“But your date—?” Jim shook his head, taking stock of the arrangement once more. “The table’s only set for two. I’ll be in the way.”

“I assure you that will not be the case. You may sit for now. I will direct you as the date progresses.”

Well, that was only logical, Jim supposed. He held up his hands, conceding the point.

“If you say so.” He glanced back to the glass on the table. “May I—?”

“By all means, captain.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, sheepishly, taking a quick sip of water.

Spock looked quickly over his shoulder, eyes narrowing.

“I must attend to the meal.” That stated, he swept the folds of his robe aside and started off. “Make yourself comfortable. I shall not be long.”

“What should I do if your date arrives?” Jim said, before Spock could leave. “Any special instructions I should know about?”

Reaching the end of the room, Spock looked back. 

“You need not do anything. Please, do not concern yourself, Jim.”

And he disappeared through the antechamber doors.

Now what was that all about? Surely if Spock’s date walked through the doors he couldn’t just sit there, right?

He probably meant that he’d be back before that happened, Jim reasoned. In all likelihood, he’d planned enough time between Jim’s arrival and the beginning of the date, and would return with plenty to spare.

Still, a beat of anxiety was pulsing in his chest. He took a long drink of water.

God, he didn’t want to do this. He really wasn’t ready to accept that Spock was giving his heart to someone else– and definitely wasn’t ready to smile and entertain his beautiful, perfect, god awful date in the mean time.

_What will I even talk to them about? _he fretted, distractedly unknotting the napkin ring on his plate. _Am I supposed to talk up Spock’s good qualities? Say how wonderful he is? God, I hope they don’t start playing footsie under the table. _

HIs water glass, he realized as he reached for it again, was already drained to its dregs. The napkin in his lap was little more than crumpled tissue paper from his nervous pawing.

This was going to be the longest night of his life.

The sound of a door swishing open sent him jolting up from his seat, causing him to bang his thigh on the table in the process.

“Ow, shi—!” But he caught himself in time.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, he aimed a grimacing smile toward the arrival.

Only to see it was Spock.

“Oh.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Hi.”

Spock was carrying a small tray, with two covered plates. His neutral expression constricted slightly, noticing as Jim put a hand to his thigh and moaned.

“Is something wrong, Jim?”

“No.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Just ran into the table. I’m good.”

Spock’s frown took on a measure of genuine worry. “I could send for an anti-inflammatory cream, should you require it.”

“No, no, don’t!”

Jim could only imagine Spock hurrying to sickbay – _Doctor, I require lotion for the captain’s upper thigh region _\- McCoy bursting his spleen laughing, Jim never living it down.

He shook his head vigorously. “It’s not that serious. I’m fine. Is that dinner already?”

“An appetizer.”

Setting the tray on the table, Spock uncovered the dishes to reveal two bowls of plum-coloured broth.

“As I know you are not fond of salad, I altered the traditional Terran formal meal structure to allow for a soup option.”

“Excellent. Wait. You didn’t just do this for me, did you? Your date—”

“Has the same preference, coincidentally.” Spock gestured to the bowl. “Please.”

Jim frowned. “Shouldn’t we hold off a bit?”

“I do not see reason to.”

“Spock,” Jim laughed, a bit thrown by the indifferent answer. “It’s not very respectful to your date to eat without them.”

“Oh.”

Spock seemed somewhat surprised by that response – though Jim didn’t see why. If there was anyone on board who’s manners bordered the textbook, it was Spock.

“Ah, there are extenuating circumstances which will allow us to eat now.”

_Extenuating circumstances?_ That was too vague for Jim’s liking.

“What kind of circumstances?”

“My date appears to be…” Spock shut his eyes briefly, “somewhat slow in their arrival.”

“Has it past the time they were invited for?” Jim asked, glancing to see if there was a time display still around.

“It is 18:23 hours. But the point is irrelevant. I anticipated the potential for a slight delay in tonight’s activities.”

18:23 hours? It was definitely more than a delay – twenty minutes late! That was bordering on an insult.

This was one hell of an ensign, leaving their first officer in the lurch. Jim had half a mind to haul this feckless good-for-nothing in for evading duty.

“Hmph.” He let the non-verbal communicate his irritation. _Twenty minutes late! _

Spock raised a reproachful brow, seeming to choose the optimistic alternative.

“I am certain this hiccup shall be remedied soon. In any case, it is Vulcan custom to proceed with an evening’s plans regardless of the present company. Therefore, I propose we continue according to schedule.”

An odd custom. But then again, all alien cultures seemed odd from a human perspective.

Besides, that soup smelled awfully good.

Jim allowed a small smile. “Well, if you insist.”

Accepting the bowl, he tried a spoonful, as Spock seated himself gracefully across the table.

“Mm!”

The sound came from him involuntarily.

Spock raised a brow. “Do you like it?”

“_Like _it?”

Jim shook his head. One taste contained a blend of flavours he had never quite experienced. Creamy, yet light, comforting and warm, with a delicate lick of heat.

“Spock, this is delicious. What is it?”

There was a hint of triumph in Spock’s expression. He lowered his gaze, and his spoon into the bowl before him.

“Plomeek soup.”

Jim felt his eyes widen. “_This _is plomeek?” He tried another taste, and found it even better than before. “Oh my God. Bones is crazy.”

“How so?”

“He said plomeek tastes like—” Jim considered that Bones’ vocabulary of insults might not be palatable, or appropriate. “…well, not good. Hence why I’ve avoided it ‘til now. But this is something else.”

“I am pleased you approve. However, I must be transparent. This is not traditional plomeek, but rather my mother’s recipe, which I have combined with a leek broth that I once partook of on Rigel VI.”

“Well, I compliment your mother’s good taste. And yours. Next time we’re near Rigel VI, we’ll have to make it a date. Er…” The words cycled back to him. “To try the soup, I mean.”

“I understood your meaning, Jim.” 

“Mm. This is excellent.” Jim shook his head, bringing another spoonful to his lips. “I didn’t realize you had such culinary expertise.”

A slight breath indicated Spock found the praise too high. “I am not an expert, merely well-trained. The ability to maintain one’s home and comforts is considered a mark of nobility in Vulcan society, and a highly attractive quality in a mate. Cooking is as much a part of Vulcan sophistication as is a taste in poetry, an appreciation for art, or the cultivation of knowledge.”

“I suppose we have that in common then.”

Spock turned his head, with some surprise. “You cook, captain?”

“Oh, no –not at this level.” He smiled, watching Spock register the subtle compliment. “I meant humans and Vulcans share the same love for food. Which probably explains those Vulcan-Terran fusion places that keep popping up on shore leave planets.”

“That may simply be a reflection of their clientele.”

“Maybe. Still, this is a very useful common ground between our species. The way to a human’s heart is through their stomach, after all.”

Spock frowned. “What?”

“You know, the way to —it’s a proverb. It means humans like to eat more than most. Not exactly biologically sound, mind you, but memorable.” 

Spock greeted the assessment with a small hum. “As most human proverbs tend to be.”

Jim chuckled, turning back to his soup – finding the bowl nearly empty, and without recollection of having devoured it so quickly.

“It is interesting that you raise the point of the connection between our cultures,” Spock mused, softly. “I have often found myself drawn to humanity.”

“That is interesting,” Jim echoed, wondering why he brought the point up. “Though I’m sure there’s aspects of interest in all alien species.”

“Yes, but it is humans which fascinate me most.” Spock’s eyes had taken on a strange intensity, glimmering in the candlelight, not moving from Jim’s. “I am quite enamoured of their inherent qualities. Humans are a highly attractive species.” 

Jim felt his mouth go dry. Shit. Spock was talking about his date. Oh, no, had he said drawn to humanity? What if he was suggesting that he wanted to make it official with this person? Was Jim going to have to sit through that too?

There was no way he could swallow something so painful.

“Hm! Fascinating,” he said, with a hasty smile. He cleared his throat, set down his spoon. “Well, if your main course is anything like this, I think you’ll have no trouble winning over your date.”

Spock’s gaze detached from his; something deflated slightly in his posture.

“I hope you are correct, Jim.”

“What are we having, anyway?”

“I have prepared separate entrées for each of us, as I could not find a satisfactory reconciliation between the Terran affection for meat, and my own aversion to it.”

Spock stood from his side of the table, moving to collect their empty bowls.

“Oh. What about spaghetti?” Jim offered. “That has vegetarian and meat options.”

“It is far too simple. I am attempting to impress.”

“I don’t know.” Jim shrugged. “Some people might consider spaghetti impressive.”

The look Spock gave him could have withered a redwood. “Who?”

“Well, alright, nobody I know.” He rested his cheek on his fist, watching idly as Spock cleared the dishes, adding in an undertone, “I like spaghetti.”

But Spock was probably right – and the brow he raised said as much.

“Still, it seems like a lot of extra work. Making multiple entrées I mean,” he said, apologetically, watching as Spock stacked the tray of dishes to an exact equilibrium. “I don’t have a preference as to—”

“Yes, you do, Jim.”

Spock gave him a look, before whisking the tray away and through the antechamber doors.

“Ok, maybe just a small one. But I don’t want to impose upon you!” Jim called after him. “I would hate to see you trapped on kitchen duty for your big night.”

_And get stuck entertaining your date_, was the silent addition.

“I have matters well in hand, thank you,” came Spock’s voice through the open door.

“I could help out, if you need anything. I’m very handy as a sous-chef!”

“I have no doubt of that.”

Spock reappeared at the doorway, with a second, larger tray. The slightest reproach entered his gaze, as he nodded toward it – seeming to say _I told you matters were well in hand_.

“I took the liberty of synthesizing the entrée course, precisely to avoid undue separation.” Approaching the table, a thoughtful look made his brows dip together. “I apologize if you would have preferred non-synthesized meat, but I find the task of cooking animal flesh personally objectionable.”

“Oh, no, of course.” Jim smiled reassuringly. “Replicated is fine by me.”

Spock nodded, setting the tray carefully in the middle of the table.

It had been nearly forty-five minutes, Jim realized, and still no sign of this fabulous date.

Glancing back to the door, he huffed. “It has to be almost 1900 hours.”

“Please.” Spock’s voice was quiet, but had a sharp edge. “I am aware of the time.”

Oh. Right. If Jim was annoyed with their tardiness, it probably bothered Spock twice as much. And it didn’t help that Jim kept reminding him of it.

He nodded. “Sorry. We’ll just—”

The words dissolved on his tongue, as Spock unsheathed the entrée. _Steak frites_– béarnaise sauce dripping sensuously over seared flank steak strips – golden Idaho fries. Far and away the best meal one could come across in deep space.

Jim looked up; his eyes must have been wider than saucers.

“No!”

Spock tilted his head, amused. “Yes.”

“Spock, how did you—?” He shook his head, laughter spilling out of him in utterly genuine delight. “McCoy had the steak program written out of the food synthesizers months ago!”

“Merely evidence that synthesizer programs are simple to rewrite.” Spock moved the plate before him with a slight smirk. “Did you wish to argue against my adherence to preference, captain?”

Jim grinned, thoroughly amused by this sudden aptitude for mischief in his oh-so-straight-laced first officer.

“Mr. Spock, remind me never to argue with you again.”

Lowering himself into the opposing chair, Spock’s eyes glittered with a very logical levity.

“Acknowledged.”

Looking to his sumptuous meal, Jim set about consuming it. This night wasn’t shaping up so bad after all! 

“Spock!”

Of course, he spoke too soon.

Both men whipped around to look at the figure who rushed through the doors. It was Lieutenant Uhura, looking uncharacteristically flustered, her coiffure uncoiling slightly on one side. Clearly, she had run a long distance to reach them - or had been in a hurry.

Oh no. Was _she _Spock’s date? 

Uhura put a hand on her hip, coming to a stop a few paces away. Panting, she said: “Sorry to barge in like this unannounced.”

The men shot to their feet at the same time.

“No trouble!” Jim said, a little too enthusiastically. Inwardly he was cursing up a storm. How was he supposed to compete with Nyota Uhura?!

Spock hastened to her side. “Has something adverse occurred? I apologize if I have neglected one of your communications.”

They’d been communicating? Then it was definitely her. _Damn damn damn damn! _

“No I didn’t message. This just came up.”

Spock’s brows dipped in some concern. “It is serious?”

She made a face, produced a sound that indicated a description was difficult to tie down. “I can’t elaborate on the details in…present company.”

She widened her eyes in emphasis. Jim was acutely aware that he was ‘present company’.

“I see.” Spock turned. “I must attend to this matter. I sincerely apologize for this interruption.”

“I apologize as well, captain,” Uhura added, taking a hasty step forward. “It won’t take up too much time, I promise.” 

“That’s quite alright.” It must be something serious, judging by their reactions. He smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. “I’m just here to help where I can. It’s your night, after all.”

Uhura’s brows rose sharply, she turned to Spock.

“Haven’t you told—?”

“_Hizhuk!_”

The hissed Vulcan word made Uhura’s mouth snap shut. Before Jim could question it, Spock had already gone on.

“Again, I apologize. Would it be tolerable if you spent the interim here alone?”

“Sure.” Jim nodded for extra confirmation. “Yes, of course, Spock. Take your time.”

“You are certain?”

“Very certain. Do what you have to do.”

That seemed to relieve both senior officers. Spock escorted Jim to the table once more.

“Please eat without me in the meantime. I am uncertain how long this may take.”

“Not very long, I promise!” Uhura chimed from the doorway.

Something about this struck him as suspicious. Secretly, Jim wondered if this interruption was a ruse.

After all, why would Spock be nervous if Uhura was his date? They spent plenty of time together – they were practically inseparable off duty. In fact – Jim’s imagination began to churn – maybe they’d already been dating. Maybe this wasn’t a first date at all. Maybe they were ditching him to get it on somewhere – or, even worse, what if this was an engagement date?

That made sense, didn’t it? Vulcans were allowed to bring their best friends to _pon farr _– why not to their proposals?

Or maybe that was just anxiety talking.

He threw a glance to Spock, but the Vulcan gave him no indication either way.

“Alright, Spock.” He gave him a smile that he hoped concealed his feverish conspiracies. “I will. And thank you again for arranging all this. I’m really enjoying myself so far.”

_So far being the operative phrase. _

An almost imperceptible softness entered Spock’s expression.

“It is my pleasure, Jim.” Swiftly, he pulled out Jim’s chair; Jim sat with a murmured thanks. “If you finish dinner before I return, you may find dessert in the antechamber replication unit.”

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t be that long.” He hesitated a moment before asking, “What is for dessert, anyhow?”

“Chocolate lava cake.”

Jim had to withhold a gasp. “Chocolate lava—?!”

But Spock had already whisked across the room to where Uhura waited. The last image he saw before the doors swished shut was Uhura’s hand coming to touch Spock’s arm.

Groaning, Jim put his head in his hands. Steak frites, and now chocolate lava cake? This rivalled the punishments in ancient Grecian myths – only far more painful.

Slowly, he dragged a hand down his face. He was torn. Part of him wanted to indulge, to accept Spock’s friendly kindness (and the meal), to put aside his own feelings for the night.

Another part of him felt violently sick.

The more he allowed himself to be charmed, the more anguish he was sure to feel as it was ripped away. This wasn’t for him – he had to chant it in his head – Spock wasn’t doing this for him. 

He could only imagine what Spock and Uhura were up to – and how far their thoughts must be from their captain. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hizhuk: quiet 
> 
> Fun fanfic fact: The soup is based on a real leek soup that I had, that transformed my whole opinion on soup as a way of life.


	5. Angstlich

“I cannot believe you haven’t told him the truth!”

Spock narrowed his eyes, avoiding the swat of Nyota’s hand as they hastened along the halls of the Observation Bay. 

“It is not a matter of telling him, Nyota.” He folded his hands severely behind his back, lowering his voice as they passed a gaggle of junior officers. “I am doing as you suggested – I am ‘playing the game’.”

She scoffed – he foresaw her contradiction.

“A game,” he continued before she could interrupt, “which I remind you I have yet to complete.”

“You don’t have to follow the rules exactly, Spock.” There was an element of exasperation in her voice, though tempered with affection. “The goal is for him to figure it out – not to confuse him.”

“I am aware of the goal.” If there was bitterness in the statement, it was self-directed. He exhaled. “I am attempting to be obvious. I have been extremely suggestive of my true purpose.”

Indeed, he found it difficult to believe that Jim had not exposed his deception. He had been nothing but attentive. The flirtations he employed tonight were more brazen than a lifetime of shared thought with his ex-betrothed. He had used Jim’s given name upward of a dozen times. How it was possible to misinterpret him was baffling.

This business was impossibly difficult. Amongst all the challenges he had planned for, none of his preparations had calculated sufficiently for the reality of romancing Jim. Or for the proximity of his beauty.

And how he was beautiful. 

The way the candle glow caught his honey-gold hair, or lit the bronze of his skin. Spock found his prepared statements unravelling on his lips, undone by the hue of Jim’s eyes, his dashing smiles, his easy humour. The feeling he provoked, and the teasing glimpses of his bare chest below the plunging neckline of his shirt made Spock wonder, imagine, dream of what might be like to…

All to say, he found it highly improbable that he had not been discovered for a love-struck fool.

“Well, you’ll just have to keep trying,” Nyota reasoned, though the words sounded more perfunctory than authentic. “We’ll regroup before you go back in. I’m great at pep talks.”

Spock sincerely hoped she was. 

They came to a halt outside Observation Deck B. Ironic, perhaps, that they had walked so far only to reach the room directly adjacent to Jim. However, he was willing to take every precaution – even at the expense of unnecessary energy.

Spock hesitated at the door. “I apologize that I have not effectively utilized your advice. My attempts tonight have not properly compensated the aid you have given me.”

“What are you talking about, sugar?” Nyota leaned against the wall, watching him key the access code. “It’s not over yet – not by a long shot. Logically, you need to stay positive.”

She was right, and supportive as always. Still, he found it difficult to uproot the inner suspicion of inadequacy. 

“Thank you. This evening is quite difficult for me, Nyota.”

A hand came to his back, warm and consoling. He appreciated that she recognized that words would not serve.

The doors swished open on his final code entry, revealing the secondary chamber of the observation deck.

Nyota’s preparations, at first glance, seemed thoroughly up to standard. The clutter of regulation furniture had been removed, a pile of eiderdowns and pillows serving for window seating. All appeared consistent with their plan.

However, he noticed his Vulcan lyre sitting a few feet away. Its position, not propped upon the instrument stand, but rather lying to the side, suggested it had been quickly abandoned. Two of its strings were loose from its frame, already starting to curl from lack of tensile pressure.

This, by all evidence, was the matter at hand.

“I swear I wasn’t messing with it,” Nyota explained quickly, as Spock moved to examine the damage. “I wasn’t even touching it when they suddenly uncoiled.”

“Were you by any chance, playing the _Katra-Kogavik _before this incident?”

Her sheepish smile was answer enough.

“Nyota.”

“I was just trying to tune it.” She rocked on her heels. “And maybe sneak a little practice in. But that’s it! I wasn’t purposefully tampering.”

“I did not imagine you were. However, this is why I have warned you about the difficulties of such songs. The fret pattern presents a great strain on the instrument when played without exact technical precision.”

“I’m sorry, Spock.”

He shook his head. There were positives in this incidence. The strings were not damaged, yet, simply detached from the upper bridge. The other ten looked to be in stable condition. It would be relatively simple to repair.

“You are forgiven. If you return it to my quarters, there is a chemical solution in the upper dresser drawer which will preserve the string until such a time as I am able to mend the damage.”

Even so, he could tell from her posture that she did not embrace his forgiveness so quickly. There was a distinct measure of guilt in her lowered eyes as she accepted the instrument.

“I am really sorry about this,” she mumbled, running a cautious hand along one of the coiled strings. “I shouldn’t have been fussing with it, on such a big night too. I feel terrible.”

Her contrition was somewhat superfluous to solving the problem at hand. Still, Spock respected her emotions, as she respected his logic.

He placed a light touch on her arm. “If it is any consolation, I have personally damaged forty lyres in my lifetime, and undertaken forty subsequent repairs. This shall not the worst of the mistakes I have solved.”

Nyota’s smile indicated she appreciated his kindness.

Nevertheless, he did not have the luxury to perform maintenance on a Vulcan lyre.

“That said,” he acknowledged, “It will be necessary to alter our plan for the rest of the evening. I cannot use this instrument.”

She chewed her lip. “There is a chess board in the lounge I could run and grab.”

“That is too standard. I had hoped to play him the _Khaf-Spol T’Surak_.”

It was the ritual song of betrothal, a gesture that matched his devotion. No other instrument could replicate the impassioned strains of the Vulcan lyre.

He lifted a brow. “It would seem there is no choice but to forgo the middle portion of the date.”

“But you need the middle portion – you can’t just jump to the end.” Nyota’s toe began to tap out a rhythm on the floor. It meant she was concentrating. “Couldn’t you play him something else, use a different instrument?”

Spock shook his head. “I am not well versed in Terran stringed instruments. Nor are there Vulcanian pipes or drums aboard ship.”

“There’s a piano in Deck C – you could play something on that.”

“A piano does not have the range to accommodate the _Khaf_—”

“Play him something else then.” Nyota’s hand came to her hip. “I’ve seen you play the piano. You know Terran music.”

Spock frowned. “’Terran music’ is highly unspecific. How shall I choose a genre, or style, or composer?”

“I think the priority is deciding whether or not to move the piano over a deck first.”

That was flawlessly logical. Spock nodded. “In view of my limited options, I will accept the piano.”

“Good.”

Nyota strode to the doors, reenergized now that there was a task at hand. Spock followed.

“I think there’s sheet music in the other room. I’ll pull up a bunch for you to choose from.”

“I will assist you in the transportation effort.”

“No, no, that’s ok!” Nyota cried, hurrying after him as he strode to the door. “It’s got wheels, I can manage. You should probably get back to Jim.”

“I shall accompany you.” When she gave him a look, he added, “The sheet music.”

A wry smirk twisted the corner of her mouth. “You sight read better than I do. I don’t see the big concern.”

“I am only competent in the classics. It takes time to accustom myself to a new piece.”

“Mhm.”

The sound suggested she doubted his excuse. The silence that followed as they walked down the hall to Deck C confirmed it.

He did not blame her. Without something to distract himself from his thoughts, they turned once more to his inconclusive findings in Deck A. And to the man who waited there.

_How did Jim truly feel? _

It was comparable to attempting to describe a specific hue, or the importance of a series of musical notes, or the hope that buoyed in his chest for what he feared could not be possible.

A quiet, private voice within himself whispered that this was all folly. Jim must know the truth – how could he not, being so experienced, so accustomed to receiving romantic overtures? Jim was a gentleman, who always defended Spock’s pride wherever he could. Of course he would take pity on him – play the game, but ultimately decline.

The thought wounded him. Spock tired of being assigned the role of the naïve, of eliciting pity because he was not immediate and direct with his feelings. He had studied this; he had prepared his heart to give a perfect expression of love. Was it possible that it was not enough?

But this was not a valuable means of conceptualizing his circumstances. Nyota was right. Logic defied pointless worry. There had been no rejection. Jim had communicated his enjoyment, and his gratitude. That was a positive basis for a continued effort.

Yet, by the same logical turn, it was impossible to ignore the full range of possibilities, and the startling number that ended in failure.

Entering Deck C, he followed Nyota to the piano.

“Let’s see here.”

She started the sheet music program on its interface. Several thousand compositions filtered past the screen.

“You’ll want something evocative, slow. If I remember correctly, Kirk’s a bit of an old fashioned romantic, so maybe something from the supra-classical era. Mozart is always a safe choice.”

He shook his head – safety was not his objective. “I shall browse the selection.”

“Sure.”

She stood, allowing him to move before the piano. He could feel her eyes train on his form, as he briskly skimmed the catalogue.

Classical Terran composers. Western European - to approach the classics Jim would have familiarity with - 17th century. Evocative. Romantic. 

“Chopin,” he said, narrowing his search. “Is he considered a romantic composer?”

“I think humans would consider his music pretty romantic. Given the right piece. Ooh!” She bumped his shoulder, pointing to one he had scrolled past. “That one is lovely.”

“This?” He selected the piece she had indicated, and frowned at the flurry of notes that fielded the first page. “Is this not too vigorous?”

“The first half maybe – but that’s just a chance for you to show off. But the middle bit here…” She made a face, and combined with her exhalation he assumed indicated the positive romantic potential.

Indeed, he knew the piece fairly well. It had been a study in his youth, one that he had attempted to transpose to the Vulcan lyre. He believed he still remembered its quintessence.

“Acceptable.” He straightened from where he had bent to look at the sheet music, closed the piano cover. “We may move the instrument now.”

“Hey, wait.” Her hand came to his back. “You ok?”

Spock tilted his head. “Certainly. What is your concern?”

“Well, you were a bit quick to make a decision.”

“I am certain.”

“I can see.” She raised her brows lightly. “Anything you need to get off your chest?”

“No.”

There was a pause. He considered the question again. There was nothing ‘on his chest’.

However…

“I would benefit from a demonstration of your moral support. A…” He searched for the correct vocabulary. “Peppy talk may help after all.”

“Oh, sugar.”

She smiled, leaning into his side, in a kind of sideways hug that Spock found less psychically overwhelming than the usual.

“You’ll be fine. He’s probably swooning over you right now.”

“It is probable that he is eating dinner.”

“But swooning over that dinner too. I know he likes you. He didn’t take his eyes off you for a second while I was there.”

Spock looked to her. “Truly?”

“Oh, yeah. You have a smitten kitten, Mr. Spock.”

That was not a rational designation. Young felines did not experience romantic love, at least not in the humanoid sense. It could therefore not be taken as fact.

It did make him feel better, nonetheless.

“Let us move the piano,” Spock said quietly.

“Smitten!” she repeated, dancing to the other side of the piano, giggling. 

He hoped, very sincerely, that she was correct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khaf-Spol T'Surak: The Heart of Surak
> 
> Hey all! Short little chapter, before a long angsty messy storm to come! 
> 
> 2 Fanfic facts for you today!  
1) One of my favourite outtakes from TOS is Nichelle Nichols saying 'hiya sugar' back to a line reader. Had to use it!  
2) Almost called this chapter 'Chopin for a Miracle' (hopin for a miracle) but could not bear to live with myself if I did it. 
> 
> Thanks to all of you who've left kudos and comments, I so appreciate your support and your feedback!! Love that you guys are loving the messy drama as much I am! <3


	6. Blunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back on my buffoonery! Get ready for some absolute bananas nonsense content my pals.
> 
> Also if you'd like to listen to the song Spock's playing here is a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fBA-38mzabs

The chocolate lava cake was absolutely divine, and yet it didn’t sit right.

None of it did. Then again, it was hard to enjoy his food when he kept looking over to the door every two seconds, hoping Spock would waltz in and announce he and Uhura had discovered irreconcilable differences.

_Why did I ever agree to this? _

The room was remarkably silent – nothing but the stars, the darkness, and the occasional flicker of a flame to draw his attention away from his thoughts. Strange. He hadn’t noticed the empty spaces when Spock had been there to fill them, to catch the light.

Oh, God. Jim laughed, beneath his breath. He was getting sentimental.

He wished time would make up its mind. This week had disappeared in a flash, but tonight was crawling at a snail’s pace. Perception was a pain in the ass.

Maybe he should just leave. That could have been Spock’s polite way of telling him to get out. He had finished his meal, after all.

“I have returned.”

Jim, gasping slightly at the unexpected voice, looked over his shoulder.

Spock stood in the threshold of the secondary deck doors. His posture was rigid, even for a Vulcan, and his hands were all but invisible behind his back.

Uhura was not with him.

“I'm glad you did,” Jim said, rising to his feet as Spock approached. “So you solved that…problem?”

“Indeed.” Spock bobbed his head. “I see you located the cake.”

“Spock, are you alright?”

Jim placed a hand on his arm, stopping him from rounding the table. A sharp inhalation met the touch.

“Yes.” Spock’s dark eyes flickered between Jim’s hand and his face. He swallowed. “Yes, certainly, captain.”

“Nothing went wrong?”

“No. What gave you that impression?”

“Nothing in particular.” Maybe it was better to be honest. Jim shrugged. “But I thought you’d want to spend as much time alone with Lieutenant Uhura as you could.”

Dark brows contracted. “Why?”

“Well…she’s your date.”

The surprise and alarm that transfigured Spock’s expression answered Jim’s unvoiced question without the need for words.

“Uh…or maybe not,” Jim amended quickly, embarrassed by his hasty judgment.

“No, Jim, she is not.” Spock’s brow quirked, perhaps somewhat amused. “She has helped me arrange this evening – that was the substance of the interruption.”

“Ah.” It was a great relief. “Then that was my mistake. I guess I’m as anxious as you are for this mystery date to arrive.”

Spock’s amusement faltered. Jim immediately realized how gauche his words were – it was nearly an hour and a half into the night, and still no sign of them!

“Oh, no, I meant—”

“It is no matter.” Spock retreated by a fraction. “Perhaps we should continue on schedule. If you would follow me?”

He gestured to the secondary bay doors.

Jim frowned. “You don’t want to wait?”

“No. I have been in contact with… my beloved, and they and I are both content to meet in the next room.”

_Beloved! _It was like a dagger in Jim’s chest. He forced the pain aside.

“Well, if it makes you happy, Spock.”

“Thoroughly, I assure you.”

In a stiff motion, Spock offered his arm. Jim took it, though he was only absently aware of their progression toward the doors. His mind ran in a loop through the possibilities of how to discourage Spock from this asshole of a beloved.

“I can issue orders for them to get down here, if they’re being difficult,” he suggested.

“No, captain.”

“I could dock them in rank.”

Spock sighed. “Not possible.”

“Spock.”

He placed his other hand on Spock’s bicep, stopping them. 

“Please let me do something to fix this. I feel terrible watching you not enjoy yourself.”

“Captain, your presence is enough to repair any injury.”

Spock covered his hand lightly with his own – which made Jim pause at the intimacy of such a gesture. Didn’t that usually signify…?

“I have no desire or further expectation but to share the evening I have planned with you, if you would be amenable.” 

And that stopped him in his tracks. That was impossibly kind. Leave it to a Vulcan to make the best out of a bad situation.

Breathing a laugh, Jim nodded. “Yes, alright. Lead the way.”

Still, secretly, Jim held onto his anger toward whoever was supposed to be sharing this moment. What in the hell could they be thinking? They had to be some hotshot young officer, who thought themselves too special, too important to give Spock the time of day.

_Probably believes all Vulcans are passionless and incapable of romance, _he thought, a little smug that he was now the one on Spock’s arm, and not them. _I’m about to get the romantic evening of a lifetime, and they’ll miss out! Ha – serves them right! _

But all bitter thoughts were erased from his mind, as they stepped through the doors to Observation Deck B.

This deck was candlelit too, only the lights shone not in the darkness of space, but in a homey, domestic scene. Pillows and blankets sat piled before the window, the view of the passing galaxy outside only making the room feel cosier. It was not so awe-inspiring as the first atmosphere, but its simple comforts struck him nonetheless as incredibly welcoming. Spock had done his research all right; Jim doubted there was a heart aboard the Enterprise that wouldn’t have been warmed by such a scene.

And again, it killed him that this utopic vision was put to waste. All the evident time and effort he had clearly invested, and this loser didn’t even have the decency to come look.

Never mind. _Stay positive. This is Spock’s night_.

When he turned to offer Spock his compliments on his decorative abilities, Jim marvelled at his Vulcan friend’s delicate smile in return.

“I trust this is also to your liking, Jim?”

“You are full of surprises, mister.” Jim laughed, just noticing that their path was strewn with rose petals. “You could teach me a thing or two.”

“No. This is merely an attempt to match your amorous capacity.”

That was unexpected. He gave Spock a bemused look. “Are you saying I’m your inspiration?” he tried, as a joke.

“Yes.” Spock’s eyes glimmered strangely. “You inspire many feelings in me.”

Well gosh. Jim felt his legs grow a little weak at that. Spock was probably just trying to say he was a good friend, that he felt supported by him – but Jim’s mind ran immediately to the floweriest of fantasies.

He chuckled, though it emerged in more of a giggle. “Don’t wear out your best lines on me, now. There’s plenty more night ahead of us.”

Spock’s gaze continued to linger.

Jim looked away quickly, and let go of his arm, before he got himself into trouble. Doing so, he spotted the baby grand sitting by the window.

“Aha! I think I’ve discovered your master plan,” he said, sauntering over to the piano. He threw a grin over his shoulder. “Music to soothe the savage beast, huh?”

Spock followed, lips curving slightly at the rhetorical device.

“I do intend to use its faculties to my favour. Though I do not anticipate any beasts will make appearance.”

“Well, not unless that date of yours shows up, right?”

Perhaps that was a bit impolite, but Spock produced a sound very close to a laugh. Jim was pleased – and more than happy to trash this totally undeserving bastard any chance he got.

The sheet music program was set to Chopin. Clearly the old standbys were good enough for a Vulcan as for a human. Still, that made him wonder.

“I’d have thought you’d choose your lyre for an occasion like this, Spock,” Jim mused, leaning against the wall as Spock sat before the keys. “I remember when you played a Vulcan mating song for us, how uniquely beautiful it was – at least to my ears.”

Spock exhaled softly. “I marvel at your mind, Jim. We think in parallel quite often.”

“You mean you were going to—?”

“Yes. Until Lieutenant Uhura discovered my lyre had broken several strings, it was my plan to play it. This secondary instrument is what I was preparing in the interval during dinner.”

Jim shook his head. Now that was too good for a coincidence. 

“Maybe that psychic ability of yours is better than you thought.” He shut his eyes. “What am I thinking now?”

“That is not how psi-sensitivity works.” Spock lifted the piano cover, revealing the row of ivory keys. “Besides, it was you who guessed my thoughts. Perhaps you should venture another.”

“Is that a challenge?

Some inscrutable emotion rippled through his expression. “If you wish.”

“I do. But it’s no challenge to guess what you’re thinking now,” Jim said, folding his arms over his chest. “You want to play a selection of heart-wrenching, overly emotional Terran music for me. Chopin maybe.”

Spock’s brow lifted. “You looked at the music program.”

“Of course.”

“I should have anticipated you would.” Spock’s dark eyelashes fluttered, as he glanced between the music and Jim. “You are a most perceptive individual.”

Jim rolled his eyes. Sarcasm or exaggerated flattery, he knew a tease when he heard one.

“No. I’m just well versed the classic manoeuvres. Musical instruments are almost a cliché for Academy romance. I even learned how to play guitar for a semester to impress my lab partner.”

“And did your efforts impress?”

“No.” Jim grinned. “I didn’t say I learned to play well.”

Spock looked away, his lips wavering slightly.

“Are you familiar with Chopin, Jim?”

“I’d be delighted if you’d make our acquaintance.”

“So I shall.”

Spock settled his hands upon the piano keys, and without further comment began to play.

The smile faded on Jim’s lips, as a flurry of notes began to fill the air. Then, he laughed. This was no simple nocturne, nor beginner’s practice piece. This was a demonstration of virtuosity.

It was only fitting that Spock would pick the most tricky and technical music to woo his beloved. No doubt it was another part of Vulcan romance – some other requirement for the perfect logical mate.

And he couldn’t say the Vulcans didn’t know what they were talking about.

He had always admired Spock’s musical talents, but he had seldom been treated to his skill on the piano. The way his slender fingers moved across the keys was almost liquid, the melody cascading through the air in similar ephemerality. Jim watched in awe, barely able to discern how the delicate dance of fingertips across the keys connected to the rich and flowing music in the air.

The music broke its storm of energy, the music now slowing, caressing the air in a sensual languid embrace. Jim was transfixed, heartstrings snared by the music, and the man who played it. He barely noticed the room – it took a moment to realize he’d walked forward to lean against the piano, stare at its player. 

God he was beautiful. His concentration, the way his lips parted slightly, as if the notes spoke to him as a text. In both his alienness – the dark brows, the slight flush of green on his face, the elegant curve of his ears – and the human tenderness he imbued into the ancient music. Jim found himself enraptured.

How long he had wanted him, in such foolishly insignificant ways. Jim thought he would have been happy to gaze forever upon this moment, to hear this music in an endless waterfall of aching beauty.

If only to know that Spock wanted the same. 

Spock’s dark eyes glanced to him, as the music quickened, the notes came in a feverish blur. Jim realized, suddenly, he was playing without any reference to the music.

He breathed a laugh, amused, but also so overwhelmed he could do no more.

The music slowed, and resolved itself in a final quiet chord – perhaps having reached its end, or perhaps not; Jim had no way of knowing.

Nor did he particularly care. 

Spock rose from his seat, slowly approached where Jim stood, unable to move for loving him. His dark eyes never wavered for an instant.

“Come,” he murmured, holding out his hand.

Without hesitation, Jim placed his hand within Spock’s touch.

They walked together to stand before the window, its edgeless glass giving the illusion that they stood on the precipice of space itself. The stars were brilliant against the purple-black, suspended amidst the empty void, slowly passing out of view. They were the same as ever, and yet there was so more in this observance than in the countless others Jim had undertaken through his life.

This was all he had ever wanted, he knew. A ship, to move amongst the stars, and the unfailing presence of love at his side. Spock was the piece he had searched for in the skies, the realization of a boyhood wish upon a forgotten star.

Yet this, like the moment, like this vision, and the imagined danger of falling into the endless sea of dark, was mere illusion.

He let go of Spock’s hand, moved to place his own against the cold glass. Somehow or other, he needed a shock of reality. The dream needed to end.

Spock did not love him. Jim was merely filling an absence, taking the place that he did not deserve. Beside him, Spock was not thinking of his captain – the music was wrought with a dream of some truer love in Spock’s well-ordered mind.

But it was too late. The trap of this sentimental show had sprung itself, and now Jim’s heart was impaled by its cold and unfeeling truth.

Compared to the vast beauty of Spock’s world, what could Jim possibly offer?

Spock’s hands moved to his back, slid to cup his arms. Jim resisted the urge to fall against him as he stepped closer.

“Jim…I must tell you how much it means for you to be with me. I…have always admired your spirit—”

“Please,” Jim whispered. A knot of emotion was working up his throat. “Let’s not—talk. I know you admire me.”

“You do not know.”

Jim dared to glance back, found that Spock had come very close.

“Not fully.” He thought Spock’s voice trembled. “I…I wish to show you…_ashayam_.”

And Spock leaned forward.

“No!”

A flash of panic gripped him, just as swiftly as realization. Jim could sense Spock’s thoughts as clearly as if they were his own.

This wasn’t real. This was desperation, on both their parts. Logic forbade waste – logic sought efficient remedy. If Spock could not have his first and best love, it was acceptable to use a substitute, and Jim’s reputation preceded him. He had done this before. Surely the cheap playboy captain of the Enterprise would do for a night, an hour, a single kiss. 

Jim could not bear the pain of such a thought.

He wrenched away, nearly stumbling against the window in his haste.

“No, Spock—I won’t… I’m not going to help you…practice –I’m not—”

“Practice?” Spock’s slender fingers came to touch him again. “I am not practicing.”

“I don’t know what you call it. But you can’t…I won’t do this.”

Spock tensed, the hand withdrew. “Ah. I…see.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim said, struggling to break apart the emotions wrestling inside his chest. “Spock, this evening… can’t have been easy for you, I know.”

“I should have never assumed your consent.” Spock stepped away, his movements unnaturally precise. His face had lost its colour, his expression was empty. “Please forgive me, captain. I have overstepped the parameters of professional conduct.”

“No, no, I understand. It’s never easy to accept being stood up by your date.”

There was a long gap of silence.

“My date?”

He pronounced the word as if it were Klingonese.

Jim glanced to him, confused by Spock’s confusion.

“Yeah,” he said, slowly, now uncertain in the word. “The… date you had.”

Spock’s eyes narrowed. “Certainly you are joking.”

Jim shook his head.

“Captain.” Spock exhaled – in open disbelief. “How have I possibly been unclear?”

“Unclear?” He felt his head cock to the side, attempting to puzzle this reaction out. “No, you’ve been perfectly clear.”

“Evidently not!”

There was a sudden, violent scrape of emotion through Spock’s blank canvas. And of course he knew Spock had emotions – hell, Jim had seen more of his inner world than any other, perhaps ever. But to imagine his feelings and to be confronted with the reality were two very different experiences, no matter your familiarity.

It was not anger, exactly. It was a very specific kind of frustration, a frustration that felt extremely human, like when an ensign spilt coffee next to a ‘no coffee in this area’ sign.

And Jim had never encountered this side of Spock before, and was thrown.

Spock’s fists settled onto his hips.

“I asked you to accompany me to dinner and a romantic evening. No third person arrived in a reasonable time frame for you to continue the evening as a wingman, and yet we persisted. The table was set for two. You even commented on the clichéd nature of my activities.”

“Stop it.” This was unnerving, uncomfortable – and in Jim’s eyes, unwarranted. “I get all that.”

“Captain, only a fool could not comprehend this.”

The words stung. He stung back.

“So are you calling me a fool?” In a split second, he donned his captain’s persona, met Spock’s gaze with a dare to say yes to that. “Is that what you’re saying? That I’m an idiot?”

Spock retreated a step. “No, Jim, I—”

“Jim?”

“C-captain. I apologize, I meant…”

“I don't really care what you meant. I don’t like your tone, mister, and I don’t know what’s the matter with you anyway. Sure, it’s been a long, pointless night, but don’t vent your frustration at me. I’m helping _you_. You asked me to give up my evening to be here – I’d appreciate it if you’d respect that.”

“Of course…I do respect your time, captain.”

Jim paced away, feeling the anger that had been boiling all night bubble dangerously to the surface. All of this schmaltzy bullshit, all of this wasted time and unnecessary pain. Why had he put up with this? Dammit, he was the superior here, not some stupid lovelorn ensign! Why had he allowed himself to be dragged around?

He scoffed, kicking aside one of the stray pillows sitting by the window. _Classic Jim Kirk – always letting yourself get walked over by anyone important. I thought you were supposed to have learned this lesson ten years ago!_

Sighing, he shook his head. “What did you expect would come of this?”

In his periphery, Spock stood absolutely still. “I thought we might have a pleasant evening, sir.”

And that was kinda rich, given the circumstances. Almost absurd. So, Jim laughed, openly.

“Pleasant? Just sitting around waiting all night? Is that your…oh God, Spock, why did you drag me into this?” He dragged a hand over his face. This had been such a waste of both their time. “What the hell did you think was going to happen? What calculations could you have possibly made to arrive here? Did you think inaction was going to work? Who does that? What in the hell is your logic?”

This probably looked like human theatrics – and they were. Jim’s questions were pointed to the ceiling, his pent up frustration spouting steam and nothing more. Now released, he heard his own childishness, how whiny and stupid he must sound.

The pillow he had kicked carelessly across the room had left a trail of disarray in its wake, scattering the perfect lines of Spock’s petal-path into a jumble.

This night was a disaster.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but Spock beat him to it. 

“I possessed no logic in this matter.” The words were lifeless. “Your assessment is succinct and accurate. You have no further need to elucidate my mistakes, for I am now fully aware of them.”

Jim looked over. His first officer’s gaze was lowered to the floor, thoroughly and calmly crushed.

_Oh, shit. _

“Spock.” He felt himself take a step forward, impulse wanting to run to his side. How could he disavow what he had just said, or possibly convince him that it wasn't a bit how he really felt? Jim raised, then let fall his arms in useless attempt for apology. “That wasn’t fair – I shouldn’t have—”

“You have no need to apologize, captain. I understand your point, despite your emotionality.”

“If you’re upset with me, I completely understand.”

“No, sir.” Spock pivoted on his heel, walked to stand by the piano. “In any case, the evening is now completed. You may depart at your leisure.”

His gaze was fixed upon the far wall, away from Jim, and did not seem inclined to move.

Jim was at a total loss, and not simply because of this. The past five minutes had been so messy and unexpected that he could not quite register all that had happened. How had they ended up here?

But if there was anything he understood, it was that Spock wished to be alone. His posture was rigid, detached, and did not invite further interaction. Jim had made a huge mistake, without a doubt.

“If you think it’s best,” he said, gently, though he wracked his brain for some way to make amends. His Vulcan friend probably wouldn’t appreciate a hug or a consoling touch in this emotional moment. Still, he needed to offer consolation. “I’m sorry that I overreacted. I allowed my feelings to get the best of me – something I’m sure is doubly offensive to you. I hope my thoughtlessness did not injure you, or our friendship.”

“It did not, captain. Your concern is acknowledged.”

But Spock still did not look at him. Jim shifted on his feet, before deciding he should probably go.

“Goodnight Spock. It was a lovely evening.”

Er, maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. He made his exit before he could make matters any worse.

Walking to his quarters, Jim puzzled over this confusing end to a totally confusing date.

What the hell had just happened?

A hell of a mess, that was what. Jim tried to go over the facts logically.

The evening, until the obvious low point, had been wonderful. He had allowed himself to get swept up in the wonder, go too far. And unable to handle his own petty feelings, he turned his anger, his own hurt against Spock. Completely unwarranted, totally unprofessional. He would have a lot of explaining to do, and more than a little dignity to earn back.

But wait. Hadn’t it all started because Spock had tried to kiss him?

It was almost unbelievable, considering it again. But that certainly seemed to be the truth. Why try to kiss him at all? To make up for not getting his date? That didn’t seem logical. And wasn’t that against regulation? Furthermore, why call the idea of his date a joke when…

Wait.

_The table was set for two._

Jim screeched to a halt in the middle of the hallway, earning a look from the passing officers around him.

Holy shit.

Suddenly, the whole evening came into view, and the shock was like finally being able to see the image hidden in an autostereogram.

The dinner – all his favourites. Planning to play the song Jim liked on his Vulcan lyre – talking about their connection, their minds. The flattery, the compliments, the flirtations. Trying to kiss him – being upset that Jim wasn’t responding enthusiastically.

Oh God, there was no such thing as bringing a wingman on a date – in fact nobody would ever ask anybody on a date unless…

Unless!

“Captain?” asked a junior officer nearby, frowning as Jim stood paralyzed. “Are you ok?”

“No,” Jim breathed. “No way, oh…No! Sorry, I’ve gotta—”

There was no point in even finishing the sentence.

_You inspire many feelings in me. _

Wheeling around, Jim ran as fast as he could in the direction of the Observation Deck, praying he still had a chance to make this right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you it was bananas (Jim is a himbo) 
> 
> Fun Fanfic Fact: Other songs I considered Spock playing included the Swan (Saint-Saens) and Chopin's Nocturne (the famous one)


	7. Put to Right

The night had been an extreme miscalculation.

Sitting at the piano, Spock held his eyes shut, his fists pressed against his lips. It was a last, flimsy barrier against a flood of tears.

Below the surface, a hundred thousand self-corrections and chastisements clawed at him. Why had he ever subjected himself to this assured humiliation? The probabilities had always scored against him; reality proved no different.

_As though you ever could have succeeded._

His hands began to shake.

The chain of events that would follow this disaster were clear, and unavoidable.

Tomorrow’s duty would see an unfamiliar wall of antipathy rise between them, part avoidance, part self-protection. In Jim’s eyes, hesitation, the horror of knowing that his Vulcan officer could feel, and to such unprofessional depths. They would skirt each other for days, perhaps weeks. Eventually, they might salvage a measure of their former friendship, but their gazes would begin to linger, the breach in Spock’s defences would spill over into his expression, and it would all collapse once more.

It was prudent to draft his transfer request as soon as possible. It would save considerable anguish. 

Spock rose from his seat, forcing himself to walk across the room. Banish these thoughts. He did not deserve the luxury of dwelling on his own stupidity.

And it was stupidity. To have thought himself attractive to James T. Kirk, the presumptuous arrogance of inveigling his captain into a romantic evening – shameful pride, all of it. Jim had been correct. What illogic could have possibly corrupted Spock’s mind to think such an idea possessed merit?

Yet above all this, he had attempted to kiss him. _Kiss _him! As if he deserved, as though he could possibly—

Spock beat back the caterwauling of his emotional centre. It would not do. There was no use in self-castigation. It merely served to coddle his bruised ego.

It was necessary to accept the reality. He had failed, and that was final. Nothing could be altered with empty lamentation. 

If he desired any of his captain’s remaining favour, he should work to amend the situation in what little ways he could.

There were two decks of the observation wing to return to operational normalcy. That would suffice as a starting point. 

His cheeks were slick with tears.

Biting back outright whimpers, Spock set about de-romanticizing Observation Deck B.

There was much to be done; he made a short agenda of tasks. He needed to snuff the candles, disassemble the reflective statues, and shut off the synthesizer unit in the antechamber. There were large pieces of furniture to replace, and others to remove.

He would require Nyota’s assistance for that. But not now. Not when he was in such an unprofessional state.

His lips were trembling.

Logically, he should start by gathering the rose petals.

He knelt. There were one hundred and eighty two to collect. Surely that would consume enough time to control his emotions.

_One. Two. _Tiny, weak gasps escaped him, fighting against the burning mass of repressed misery in his throat. He ignored it. _Seven. Eight. _Foolish, stupid. _Fifteen. Sixteen._

“Spock!”

The sound of his captain’s voice made him jump, the rose petals scattering from his hand.

He looked up. Jim stood framed in the entrance. His cheeks were flushed, his breath heavy, as though he had run a considerable distance.

“Captain, wh…?”

The expression on Jim’s face, which at first had been an inscrutable mixture of thrill and bewilderment, plummeted to worry as their gazes met.

“You’re crying.” He took a half step forward, seeming to catch himself in an impulse to bound across the room. “Oh, no! _Spock, _no, no!”

At once, Spock realized that giving his captain a view of his tear-stained face was not decorous, or desirable.

He turned away, back to the petals. “I apologize. I did not anticipate you would—”

“Spock!”

Suddenly, Jim was at his side, on his knees, his arm moving around Spock’s back in protective comfort. When Spock recoiled, a hand rising instinctively to swipe his aqueous emotion aside, Jim’s touch was already on his cheek, bringing them back into eye contact, visual communion with one another.

Spock sat paralyzed, tracking only the movement of Jim’s hand against his face, and the kindness of his gaze.

Lightly, helplessly, Jim shook his head. “I am an enormous idiot.”

“You…are what?”

“An idiot. A fool. Silly, and blind, and totally illogical.”

“That is not accurate, Jim,” said Spock, tentatively, unsure what this meant. “Why have you returned?”

“You're in love with me. I realize now. I know - Spock, I could never have dreamt you felt this way.” Jim’s thumb brushed aside the lingering proof of his tears. “I didn’t think it was possible. When you invited me - saying your date was…I thought I was losing you, that you didn’t…I should have recognized what you were offering to me from the start.”

“Again, I apologize if—”

“No.”

His fingertips slid to trace Spock’s lips, in a manner Spock dared to call ‘lovingly’. It took all his willpower not to surrender to their caress.

“Don’t you see?” The touch grew fervent. “Spock. I haven't made you stop...feeling this? You do feel this, don't you?”

And Spock did, it pulsed through Jim like a second heartbeat.

“Yes.” The word trembled. “Yes, I feel it. I have always…” He could not go on.

“It’s yours. This feeling in me. It always has been. Everything you said, it's echoed here.” When Spock’s hand came to curl around his, Jim clutched it passionately, moved their joined hands to his heart. “Spock. You're my beloved.”

A sob wrenched from Spock's throat. Before he dared question this fortune, he seized Jim in a feverish embrace, burying his face, and the emotion pouring down his cheeks into Jim's chest.

And Jim did not pull away.

“I love you,” he whispered, when he paused in placing reverential kisses against his collarbone. This felt unreal, fleeting, and he would not leave this dream without something tangible. “Jim, my _t’hy’la._” The words shuddered with relief, exaltation."Beloved of all my life.”

“Spock.” Jim gripped him just as tightly, secure and safe. “Oh, Spock, my darling.”

They remained together for a long moment. He registered Jim’s lips press against his forehead, and thought he had never come so close to happiness. 

Jim’s hand dragged up the length of his back, soothingly. “I’m here. Whatever you need, sweetheart, I’m here.”

Spock withdrew a short distance, looking up into Jim’s hazel eyes. They, too, shone with wetness, though likely in sympathetic response to Spock’s emotionality.

He exhaled, brushing aside the moisture from his eyes.

“I do not know why I continue to weep. I am most content.” A thought occurred to him. “You…are in love with me also, correct?”

“Oh, God, have I still not said it?” Jim laughed, cupping his cheek. “I love you, Spock. I love you so much. I love you more than I think I’ve loved anyone. You can test me on that.”

For once, Spock had no desire to dispute the claim.

“Would it be acceptable if I were to kiss you?”

An unquantifiable softness entered Jim’s expression.

“Oh,” he breathed. “Most acceptable.”

Thus, he did.

Gingerly, Spock brought their mouths into gentle contact. Jim’s breath was warm on his skin, his lips pliable and eager. He tasted faintly of the chocolate lava cake. Appropriate. Spock found himself quite intoxicated by the sensation.

A quiet moan passed between them, whether Jim’s or his own, he cared not. Their hands strayed against each other’s forms, lacing through their hair, exploring the curve of hips, and spines, and chests.

They kissed beyond the point that Spock cared to record the details.

When they parted, he recognized that he lay supine upon the floor, rose petals strewn on either side. He did not remember how they had arrived here precisely; yet that was…fine. 

“Is this okay?” Jim knelt on hands and knees above him, his breath and voice huskier than normal. Still, there was sincerity in the question, a genuine concern. “I didn’t mean to go so fast. We can put the brakes on, if you want.”

Slowly, Spock shook his head. Though this was quite exotic and unknown to him, he was not daunted.

“I love you.”

The beam of happiness that spread across Jim’s lips was unmatched in beauty. 

“I love you too.” He produced a little giggle. “Does this mean you think I’m superlative?”

“_Taluhk nash-vesh k’dular_,” Spock whispered, bringing a hand to trace the meld points of Jim’s cheek. A flicker of warm thought passed his vision, and he nearly wept once more. “_T’hy’la t’nash-veh. Vaksurik!_” 

“Maybe we should stick to words we both understand,” Jim murmured, slightly wry. “Since I seem to be obtuse.”

“You are not obtuse. You overwhelm me.”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to do that.”

Jim climbed off him. Spock rose from where he lay, almost amused by Jim's genuine concern, and the eager hand he placed under his arm to help him up.

“Love shouldn’t feel overwhelming – at least I…I don’t want you to be…”

Jim's hand withdrew, almost shyly. Then, he extended the first two fingers of his right hand.

The _ozh’esta_.

“This is how you do it, isn't it?” he asked, frowning slightly at Spock’s stare.

“Yes.” He looked up into Jim’s attentive, remarkably earnest eyes. “You…wish to…?”

“Of course. I want to do this the right way.” He offered a timid smile. “I love you. You make me feel secure, in balance. Let me help you feel that way too.”

That touched him beyond speech. Spock moved his fingers to meet Jim’s.

A wave of almost lyrical energy rippling through the point of contact. Yet it was gentle, not so overpowering as the first heady feelings of love. Spock could sense Jim’s joy, his boundless love, and was not disoriented by it, nor were his own feelings pushed aside. No. This feeling was quite simple, and in its simplicity lay a confirmation.

They both smiled; Spock comprehending the expression better than he ever had. 

“Wow.” A little rush of air preceded Jim’s next. They let the touch fall. “I certainly understand why Vulcans prefer that gesture now.”

Spock inclined his head. It was difficult to believe in his circumstances. Jim loved him. They had kissed - the _ozh'esta_, no less! 

“It does possess certain pleasures, yes.”

“I wish I’d understood from the start,” Jim said, softly. “I’ve wasted our evening through sheer imperception.”

“It is only 2100 hours, Jim.”

The hopeful look that crossed his expression was endearing. “You mean you had more planned?”

“Certainly. We had not reached the end of the scheduled activities when we adjourned.” Spock nodded to the arrangement of pillows before the observation window. “If you would wish—?”

“Yes.” The candlelight sparkled in his eyes. “Oh, Spock, yes.”

So they did.

They lowered into the pile of cushions. When Spock did not flinch from his approach, Jim curled against his arm, his head falling against his shoulder.

Nyota had been right, Spock thought, smiling inwardly. This was a most ideal way to conclude a romantic evening.

“Thank you for tonight.” Jim’s voice was as warm as the candlelight. “I know things got away from us at the end, but I had a wonderful time. The dinner, the music, all of it was so perfect.” He sighed, pressing his cheek into Spock’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome. Though I would respectfully submit you should not discount yourself from the evening's perfection.”

A little hum said the compliment was much appreciated.

He recalled Nyota’s final instruction.

Cautiously, Spock shifted his arm out of Jim’s touch. He rotated it smoothly through the air, until it landed neatly around Jim’s shoulders, allowing their bodies to be in closer contact.

The ‘over-the-shoulder’ manoeuvre, he believed it was called.

At his side, Jim giggled.

“You don’t have to be so careful, you know.”

“I know.” But Spock did not alter his position. “I would like to proceed carefully, nonetheless.”

He sensed through their contact a slight dip in Jim’s contentment.

“Because of me? My reputation?”

“No, capt—Jim.” He gently contracted his arm around Jim’s shoulders – a reassuring squeeze. “It is simply that I wish for our romantic relationship to be ‘rock-solid’, just as our professional and platonic ones are.”

“Rock-solid?”

He looked down. “Is that not the correct usage? The term, to my understanding, denotes certainty, or the substantiality of a—”

“No, it’s correct.” Jim placed a steadying hand against his chest. “I just haven’t heard it used exactly that way before. But I agree.”

“You do?”

“Mm-hm. Completely.” Jim pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I don’t enter a relationship with just anyone, Mr. Spock. When I love, I want it to be with someone who I know wants something ‘rock-solid’ too. And I know now that person is you.”

The words sent an illogical flutter through his heart.

“You would like to enter a relationship with me?”

“Of course.” Jim withdrew, a dash of worry in his expression. “Unless you don’t—?”

“No! No, I would also prefer us to be partners.” Spock tilted his head, struggling to withhold how truly exciting such a prospect was. “It is only logical.”

Jim grinned. “It certainly is.”

There was little else to say. Thus, they abandoned speech, and simply turned to the view before them.

The void of space ahead was uncharted and vaster than could be comprehended, the stars moving along the pathway of the ship’s endless trek ever more brilliant than the last.

Yet somehow, Spock thought, feeling his _t’hy’la _shelter within his embrace, the universe no longer seemed unknowable or solitary.

At least, not from the vantage of Jim's side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T'hy'la t'nash-veh: My t'hy'la  
Vaksurik: Beautiful
> 
> The End! Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me through this very oblivious journey! Love you all! 
> 
> Final Fun Fanfic Fact: I think soft and gentle first kisses are the best first kisses of all. Do you agree? <3

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fanfic fact: This work is saved on my computer as 'Oblivious Jimmious', in case you needed a hint where this fic is going. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a kudos/comment if you so desire. And come tell me how much Kirk and Spock make you want to scream at fictionandtheatre.tumblr.com 
> 
> (also should I keep doing fanfic facts at the end of the chapters bc I think that's really fun, lemme know)


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